


The Stars, the Moon, and a Soul to Guide Us

by theangryuniverse



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vikings, Arranged Marriage, Don't copy to another site, Eventual Smut, Fantasy elements, Fluff, Gods and Godesses, M/M, Mentions of Slavery, Mpreg, Romance, Slow Romance, Song: Jenny of Oldstones, language barriers, neolithic, non-typical a/o/b, non-typical omegaverse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-01-22 10:55:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 105,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21300893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangryuniverse/pseuds/theangryuniverse
Summary: When Yuuri was born, the priestess was struck with a vision, a picture they could not explain. As he comes of age, they realise what he is - the carrier of a gift, admired by some, but feared and mistrusted by most.But when his future is decided for him and his life put in the hands of a stranger through marriage, Yuuri knows that he has no choice. That whatever the gods have planned for him must come true.As it was foretold.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri & Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 560
Kudos: 837





	1. Miracle of Miracles

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Chorus in Aurorae](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13707318) by [Salty_Caramel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salty_Caramel/pseuds/Salty_Caramel). 

> I have ZERO explanations for this, really.  
It just... happened.

You see, they could not have been more different from each other.

For one, they did not even share the same language.

The first time Yuuri had heard the harsh, rough sequence of syllables rolling off a stranger’s tongue, he had been but a young boy, sitting on his mother’s lap in front of their hut by the sea. She had been cleaning herbs that day, and her little boy had assisted her happily. He was too young to be criticised for it, although it was regarded women’s work. Neither his mother nor father ever told him off for it, unlike their neighbours who regarded the boy with odd looks whenever they saw him helping his mother around the house. But Yuuri was a delicate child, and had been a sickly babe, and his family could consider themselves lucky that he had survived five winters so far. Perhaps it was because of that that his mother liked to keep him close, and that his father had not taught him to handle the bow yet.

The stranger was a fascinating man to little Yuuri, a fascinating man in fascinating clothes. He was taller than most men in their village, with sharp, defined features, and hair so light that Yuuri wondered if it could even be real. He had seen hair like this being sold at the market, the merchants showing it off proudly as their best product. He knew that this hair came from slaves from lands far away, and was nothing more but decoration, but the stranger neither looked like a slave nor like he wore it for decoration. After all, it was the man’s actual hair, and Yuuri could not stop staring.

The stranger’s clothing was just as peculiar as his hair – for it was mostly white and grey fur and leather to shield him against the icy winds that often plagued this place. The people in Yuuri’s village mostly wore darker fur, for the white ones were reserved for special purposes and considered very valuable. A stranger wearing it as if it were daily clothing had to be someone special, then, little Yuuri concluded, and he could not take his eyes off the man.

His father stood at the end of the path leading up to their hut, speaking to the stranger in the same, strange tongue. Little Yuuri had never heard his father speak like this, and it scared him, for it made his father sound like a beast, and he curled up against his mother’s warm bosom for comfort. She laughed, the sound making her chest vibrate, and her arms came to settle around him, and she kissed him.

Little Yuuri had never liked strangers.

But every few months or so, the stranger in the white furs returned. As it turned out, he was a friend of Yuuri’s father, and also a clan leader, just like him. But the man’s clan, Yuuri learnt from his sister Mari one evening as they lay under the furs together, lived many days away, further up north, where the nights were long and the winters very cold. He came to them for trading purposes, Yuuri learnt, to share what his people made with the ones their father watched over. And indeed, Yuuri had seen other strangers around their village and near the other settlements. Many of them had hair that shimmered golden in the sun, but none had hair so bright and like moonlight like their leader.

Their father spoke little of their language, but it seemed enough to get by.

The language, however, was not the only problem that separated them from each other.

Yuuri’s upbringing had been very different, even different from his peers in his own village. When other boys would eagerly join their fathers for training, learning how to hunt with spears and knives, little Yuuri would stay behind and watch them cautiously. He was not so little anymore, having survived four more winters much to everyone’s surprise. He may not have been the tallest, or the strongest child, but he was determined to live, and his parents were content with that.

They already had a child that fearlessly went out into the world.

However, it was important that Yuuri at least learnt to hunt. The day his father had taken him out to practise with the spear, they had come home with a crying Yuuri and a bleeding wound on his foot where he had dropped the heavy weapon. His mother had yelled, not at him but at his father, for giving him a weapon far too big for him, for refusing to see that their boy was not like the others. Yuuri had covered his ears the whole time, his sister’s arms around him as she tried to comfort and distract him from the throbbing pain in his foot.

Fortunately, it was not a deep injury, but his father never trusted him with a spear again.

Instead, it was Mari who went hunting with him, not caring what the people in their village thought of it, and soon, no one ever bat an eye. Yuuri stayed at home with his mother, helping her with her own work whilst the other boys went to hunt with their fathers.

Yuuri knew that he didn’t have many friends because the other boys saw him as a girl. It did not bother him personally that he was not good with the spear, for he enjoyed spending time with his mother learning everything about healing and other things. But he knew how much it bothered his father that he could not even do a single manly thing. He never said it out loud in front of Yuuri, but the boy had overheard his parents talking about him at night. Whilst they both knew that there was little they could do about his nature, his father expressed that he had hoped to see at least some proper manliness in him. His mother said that she had hoped to see more of a woman in Mari in return, but that in the end, none of this truly ever lay in their hands, for it was all the will of the gods.

That night, Mari and Yuuri had held onto each other very tightly.

But as it turned out, Mari was more of a woman than most people would have thought. One day, when Yuuri returned from fishing with his father, they found their hut crowded with the village’s women, sitting around a deeply embarrassed Mari and braiding her hair in the fashion of those that were of marriageable age. Yuuri had been pulled aside by his father that night, and had been told about the differences between men and women.

As it turned out, Mari had had her first blood the morning they had left for fishing, and the women had come together to celebrate. This meant, according to his father, that Mari could now get married and have children of her own. To Yuuri, this was absolutely out of the question. His sister was far too young! Upon telling his father about his concerns, he was relieved that he agreed with him, and that despite Mari officially being a woman now, she wouldn’t go anywhere soon.

Things changed for Mari nonetheless. She was no longer allowed to hunt together with the other boys, for their mother deemed it highly inappropriate. Fortunately, their father did not stop Mari from coming along with him, and she was easily able to keep her place as the best huntress in the village.

Yuuri was young, but he knew by merely looking at Mari that she was not like other girls, and would not so easily find a husband. Mari, however, did not seem to care much. Some even whispered that one day, she would lead the clan. Yuuri had never understood those rumours. He was the son of the clan leader, was he not? He was surely going to take over the clan when his father was no more. But he could very well see where they were coming from.

He was not even able to hold a spear without hurting himself.

Eleven winters had passed when Yuuri woke up one morning with blood between his legs.

A terrified cry was all that escaped his throat, but it was enough to alert the entire family. His mother, standing outside and talking to their neighbour, dropped everything and rushed inside. His father, fixing the roof with the help of a few others, immediately climbed down the ladder. Mari, getting dressed for the day, dropped her shoes and pulled her brother into her arms.

Yuuri held onto her, frozen in shock, certain that he was about to die. That the gods had cursed him with blood and pain, and that his end was near.

But Mari kept holding him, whispering assurances to him, promising that he would not die.

He did not hear the heated exchange between his parents.

Over the course of the next few days, the village witnessed the arrival of several strangers at the clan leader’s house. Many of these people seemed to have come from far away, their clothing odd and their voices even stranger, but what they all had in common, it seemed, was the way they carried themselves. Proud, and with their heads held high, they tied their horses to the posts and marched up the hill to their clan leader’s hut.

Soon, it went around that at the clan leader’s home, the sacred ones were gathering.

And that could only mean one thing.

Yuuri had never felt so scared before, despite seeking refuge in his mother’s embrace.

The men sitting around the fire in their hut were strangers, people he had never seen before. They spoke in hushed voices, their gazes lingering on him every now and then. Only one woman was among them, her eyes always fixed on Yuuri, and that alone scared him to death. It was only the soothing hand of his mother in his hair that kept him from running.

“Your son is sacred, Toshiya,” one of them said to his father. He seemed young, a man in his twenties, strong and yet with a certain softness. “Blessed by the gods.”

“Indeed,” the man next to the first one said, just as young as his neighbour. “And it was foretold.”

“It was foretold,” Toshiya agreed softly, his hands resting on his knees as he stared into the flames.

“Then why do you fret?” The woman among them asked. Yuuri heard that her speech was flawless, not accentuated with foreign influences. Perhaps she was from this area, then. “The gods themselves have blessed your son. Why do you doubt them?”

“I do not doubt the gods,” Toshiya assured her immediately, and the pain in his voice caused Yuuri to bury his face deeper in his mother’s shoulder. “I’m…” Toshiya sighed. “This is the first time in sixty winters that… this village, it is…”

“We understand,” the man to have spoken first said calmly. “But in order to find his place in life, your son must understand who he is, and what the gods expect him to do.”

“Toshiya,” Yuuri heard his mother say, and her embrace became a little tighter. “I beg you.”

Yuuri whimpered in his mother’s arms, not understanding what was going on. He wanted these people to leave them alone, the pain in his stomach to disappear, the blood from his body to stop flowing.

“Young man,” a friendly voice said. “Do you mind telling us your name?”

His mother nudged him a little and Yuuri lifted his head, shyly looking around and finding a dozen men studying him. The man who had spoken sat the closest to them, his face youthful and his hair shining golden in the light of the fire.

“You don’t need to be afraid, Yuuri,” his mother whispered into his ear.

The man smiled. “Is that your name? Yuuri? That is a nice name. How old are you, Yuuri?”

Yuuri swallowed thickly, looking at his father, who only nodded.

“E-eleven,” he whispered.

The men exchanged a few knowing looks.

“That is a good age, isn’t it?” The man beside him said with a smile. “When I was eleven, I had a lot of fun going fishing with my father. Does Toshiya take you fishing, too?”

Yuuri nodded shyly, not sure why the man was asking, but his nonverbal answer seemed to be enough.

“Yuuri,” the woman sitting in the middle said. “We are here because the gods have blessed you with a purpose. You may not remember me, but I was the one who pulled you out of your mother, and who bathed you in the water of the stream. It was there where it was foretold that you would be blessed. With what, I could not tell, for the ways of the gods are mysterious. But now that you had your first blood, we can be certain of their will. And of your destiny.”

Yuuri stared at the woman, indeed not knowing who she was, but having seen enough of the world to know that she was a priestess.

Then, the man beside him began to speak again, his words revealing the truth about what his parents had only ever called his ‘nature’. That he, just like Mari and his mother, carried his soul not in his head, but in his belly. That the blood had been proof that he, being born a boy, had been blessed with the gift of bringing forth new life. That the men in their hut were just like him, sacred ones, as they were called, and that they were very, very rare.

Panic rose inside Yuuri and he freed himself from his mother’s grasp, ignoring the shouts that followed as he ran out of the hut and down the hill, past the villagers that had gathered there in curiosity, and to the beach. He hid there, under a cliff surrounded by rocks, begging the gods that no one would find him there.

It was of no use.

Between his sobs, Yuuri heard that someone was approaching, but whoever it was kept a distance to him, as if out of respect. Yuuri ignored them for a while, hiding his face between his arms where they rested on his knees, listening to the sound of the crashing waves only. The sound had always been soothing to him, had always managed to lull him to sleep, but tonight, they miserably failed to do so.

“When they told me, I ran away, too,” a voice said calmly. “But we did not live near a beach. So I ran into the woods and got lost. I wandered around all night until they found me at the break of dawn. I was almost frozen to death. My mother cried the whole time, and so did my father. I had never seen him cry before.”

Yuuri looked up, blinking through his tears. The nice man from before, the one that had sat right beside him, leant against a rock a few feet away from him, watching the sea.

“Do you know what you are, Yuuri?” He asked. “What a sacred one is?”

Yuuri shook his head.

The man finally looked at him, a sympathetic expression on his youthful face. “The gods made us men and women, with different strengths and qualities. Men’s bodies are hard, where women’s bodies are soft. Men carry their souls in their heads. This is the reason why they are often so full of themselves. Women carry their souls in their bellies. This is why they are calmer, more peaceful. Then there are women who have their souls in their heads, too. They are warrioresses, most of the time. Strong, independent, with no man able to keep up with them. Your sister is like that, I’ve been told,” he added with a smile. “But you’ve surely noticed that despite being so, her nature is still the same.”

Yuuri nodded. Oh, he had always known that Mari was different, that she was a fighter where he was not, but that at the end of the day, she was still a woman, with the life of a woman waiting for her. She would surely marry one day, and bear children.

The man moved to sit down beside Yuuri, leaning back against a rock. Yuuri could not help but admire the colour of his hair, like golden threads spun in a magnificent wheel.

“We carry our souls in our bellies, Yuuri,” he explained calmly. “The gods blessed you with an extraordinary gift that they only bestow upon women. It is why you bleed, and why you must have felt very different from the other boys. You are sacred, Yuuri. It was foretold.”

Yuuri immediately curled up into a ball and turned away from the man. No, he did not want to hear any of this, wanted to be left alone, wanted to wake from this nightmare.

“They used to hunt and kill us, many years ago,” he merely said. “They were scared of us, but not anymore. They no longer defy the will of the gods, but they still treat us with caution. That is why your father and mother were so worried. Just like mine, they feared for what my life would be like. But it is a good one.”

Yuuri wrapped his arms around himself, hardly enough of a shield from the icy wind hitting him in the face, but the man stayed with him, unfazed by it all.

“I understand that you are afraid,” he said. “I was, too.”

“I don’t want this,” Yuuri whispered, barely audible, but the man heard him nonetheless.

“I did not want it, either,” he said. “But it was foretold. It is the gods’ will.”

For the first time in his life, Yuuri wished for the gods to go and fuck themselves.

* * *

The men stayed with them until the next day, keeping a respectful distance to Yuuri. Mari, who had eventually come to collect him from the beach, never left his side, providing him with hot stones he could wrap into a fur and hold against his stomach and glaring at anyone that dared to even look into Yuuri’s direction. But it was mostly Yuuri’s mother they spoke to, and Yuuri heard them talk about things that sounded so incredibly ordinary, like children, upcoming markets, recent hunts. They left around noon, the man that had followed Yuuri giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before leaving as well.

The only person that stayed was the priestess.

Her name was Minako, Yuuri found out, and she had been a member of their village in her youth before she had been chosen by the gods to be a priestess. Following her calling, she had travelled far and wide to gain wisdom. But now, she had returned to her home for a while, for there was a matter that required her attention.

This matter, as it turned out, was Yuuri.

Soon, it had spread through the village that a sacred one was among them, and that it was the clan leader’s son. It was the first time in sixty years that such a thing had happened, and the oldest members of the village still remembered the last sacred one, and how he had been killed as a sacrifice to pacify the gods.

What had followed had been a terrible storm, a storm so heavy that it had destroyed settlements across the country, and the priests and priestesses had put an end to the practice.

That, Yuuri learnt, was the reason the sacred ones had been so young. For they were rare, and those before them had not been allowed to exist.

Yuuri could not have cared less about prophecies and the will of the gods, if there had not been the other children. Soon, they had heard from their parents and grandparents what he was, and kept their distance to him. Some of them began to call him names, shouting “Girl! Girl!” at him when he went to get water from the stream, refusing to be near him when they bathed as if afraid of what he would do to them, and moving out of the way when he was nearby.

It did not help that Mari would beat up those that insulted him, despite her best intentions.

And so, Yuuri found himself living a secluded life in the bosom of his family, leaving the house only when necessary.

At night, he would hear his father pour out his heart to his mother. “I wish we could have had just a normal boy, Hiroko. What has our Yuuri done in his past life to deserve to carry this weight on his shoulders? Why… why does he have to be like this?”

“I don’t know, Toshiya,” he heard his mother respond. “But we must not question their will. It has been foretold.”

That night, Yuuri quietly cried himself to sleep.

Their lives continued, seemingly as they always had been, with the exception that Yuuri had become an outsider within his own village. Whilst the adults were never openly hostile towards him, they kept their distance, only ever nodding at him when they walked past him into their house. In return, Mari seemed to gain popularity, being at least somewhat normal in the villagers’ eyes. She was allowed to go hunting with the others again, now no longer only carrying the spear, but also practising with bow and arrow – their father’s own supreme discipline, and Yuuri didn’t miss the pride in the man’s eyes whenever he watched Mari train.

It was as if in Mari, he had found the son Yuuri would never be.

The only time Yuuri dared to go outside was at night. And even then, he would only sit outside their hut and watch the stars. Especially when he couldn’t sleep because of pain in his stomach, he would wrap a fur around his shoulders and sit on a tree log. It was the only time he felt he could get some fresh air without having people stare at him. Mari often tried to make him come along when she went to the beach, but Yuuri always refused. Mari kept asking nonetheless.

She would lead the clan one day, there was no doubt about that. Someone like him, a man who was no man, couldn’t do that, he was sure. His father had never said it out loud, but to Yuuri, it was clear as day. Only the gods knew what would happen to him.

If he was lucky, Mari’s future husband would allow him to stay.

Yuuri sniffed, wrapping the fur tighter around his shoulders and knocking something over in the process. He turned his head, finding the bow that Mari had been practising with lying beside him.

Yuuri picked it up, turning it in his hands. When he was four, his father had once found him trying to carry a grown man’s bow like this one, and had taken it off him with a laugh. But now, the bow didn’t seem too heavy in his hands, despite being too large for a boy aged twelve. A few arrows lay on the ground, their container being the thing Yuuri had knocked over.

Yuuri’s eyes wandered to the sack filled with hay his father had tied to the post. Mari practised with it every day, trying to hit the eyes his father had drawn on it.

And then, as if the gods had possessed him, Yuuri picked up the bow and arrow and aimed for the eye.

* * *

The strangest sounds woke Toshiya early in the morning, dull and mixed with the swoosh of the wind, the clack of wood against wood, and frustrated cries disturbing the silence in their hut. Finding his wife still asleep beside him, Toshiya climbed out of bed and went to the door, pushing the leather curtain aside to step outside.

His son stood in the light of the rising sun, his feet bare and crusted with mud. In his hands, he held his sister’s bow, far too heavy and too large for him, but with a determination that seemed without equal.

“Yuuri, by the gods!” Toshiya exclaimed. “What are you doing there?”

Yuuri didn’t look at him. He let go of the arrow, shooting it right into the eye of the imaginary creature. “I’m doing what I should!” His son snapped, grabbing the next arrow to take aim. Just like the one before, this arrow hit its target effortlessly, burying itself deep in the imaginary eye.

Toshiya’s own eyes widened.

Only then, he saw how far away Yuuri stood from its target, too far away for any beginner to actually hit anything, but Yuuri’s aiming was effortless, as if it were second nature to him. But Yuuri did not seem to care. He grabbed the third arrow, and took aim.

“What is going on?” Mari had come out of the hut, freezing on the spot as she saw her little brother do what she still failed to achieve, shooting arrow after arrow into the fake animal’s eye.

“Is this good enough now?!” Yuuri shouted, grabbing the final arrow from the floor and took aim. Toshiya looked at the sack, there was no more space for an arrow in the animal’s eye, unless—

Yuuri let go.

The arrow split the one in the centre in half, the sound of cracking wood sending shivers down Toshiya’s spine. Never before had he seen any archer achieve such a thing, not at such a young age, not without training.

“Am I a man to you now?!” Yuuri breathed, stumbling towards his father, the bow still tightly in his hands. Sweat streamed down his face, like the blood flowing down his legs and staining the earth beneath their feet, but Yuuri did not look as if he cared. Instead, he was breathing heavily, the exhaustion finally taking over, but he kept standing on his feet, looking his father in the eye.

“Am I a man to you now, father?” He breathed out in anger and despair. “Am I your son or not?”

Mari let out a small squeak as Toshiya finally stepped forward, pulling the exhausted Yuuri into his arms. “Of course you are my son,” he whispered, gently taking the bow from Yuuri’s bruised hands and dropping it to the ground. “You have always been my son.”

Hiroko stepped out of the hut, gasping at the sight of her husband and her son in an embrace they had not shared in months. And then, they all came together, holding onto each other tightly.

“I’ve always had a son and a daughter,” Toshiya said softly and kissed his children’s heads. “And they are just as the gods meant them to be.”

* * *

A different language, and a very different upbringing. Those were the main reasons that Yuuri usually kept a distance to others of his age whenever the clans came together for an annual meeting.

It was not the first time for him to accompany his family to the meeting. After that fateful morning where Yuuri had demonstrated his skills in archery, the relationship between him and his father had changed once more. And not just that. It was as if someone had clicked into place that morning, as if through archery, Yuuri had been able to convince himself that despite the things the gods had decided for him, he was still very much Toshiya’s son. And that whilst he would not take over the clan – about that, he had been right -, he was still very much one of his heirs, and allowed to carry himself with the pride of a clan leader’s son.

The fact his male peers didn’t want to have anything to do with him had stopped bothering him that morning, although his archery skills had earned him their respect again. He was no longer being completely avoided, but joined the others during training sessions, exchanging a few words here and there.

The girls, however, loved Yuuri.

His best friend Yuuko sat next to him on the cart, barely able to sit still. Yuuri knew why. The cart was filled with her belongings, for she would not return home after the annual meeting. One year ago, her parents had arranged a marriage between her and a young man called Takeshi, whom Yuuri had met briefly. Yuuko had been absolutely over the moon, and still was. Like many others, she would get married at the annual meeting, surrounded by family and friends, and follow her new husband home.

It was not a future that Yuuri would ever see for himself, that much was clear to him. Very few men favoured the company of other men. And although Yuuri had known from a very young age that he liked boys better than girls in that respect, he was aware that he was a very rare case.

But when being considered a sacred one, it was a fortunate coincidence.

“Are you not excited?” Yuuko asked happily as they drove through the lanes between the tents lining the bay. “All those competitions to watch! New things we can buy!”

Yuuri shrugged. “It’s my fifth time here now. There isn’t much exciting about clans meeting after a while.”

Yuuko rolled her eyes. “You are the most bitter seventeen-year-old I’ve ever had the misfortune to know!”

“How many seventeen-year-olds do you know?”

“That’s not the point!” She threw her hands dramatically in the air.

“What the hell are you doing over there?” Mari called, turning around on her horse. “The cart is shaking.”

“Nothing!” Yuuko grinned and leant against Yuuri with a happy sigh. “Ah, I’m so happy! I can’t wait to see Takeshi!”

Yuuri said nothing to that, merely patting his friend’s back.

Soon, they had arrived where they usually set up their tent, and Yuuko went to join her own family again. Yuuri got off the cart and helped the others to unload, taking the heavy things from his mother as they set up the tent where they would sleep for the next week or so. The meetings of the clans lasted several days, and one could never know when they would end, so they had to be prepared for everything. Even after the tent had been set up, Yuuri stayed around to help his mother, unlike others of his age. It had always been this way. Yuuri had long given up trying to find friends at the meetings, for they had either heard of him being a sacred one, or they spoke languages he did not understand. Neither his mother nor father ever forced him to socialise, although he had found a few acquaintances through Mari who, despite her legendary stare, was quite popular among all youths.

Those acquaintances always came to their tent to say hello, some of them trying to convince Yuuri to join them for a meal or for a walk through the temporary settlement, but Yuuri always declined. Often, he would feel his mother’s eyes on him whenever he chose to stay with her, but she would never say anything about it.

Their father was rarely around during clan meetings, for he was meeting with other clan leaders and usually bringing Mari along. Yuuri only ever got to see him in the evenings when they mingled with other clans, but even then, Yuuri preferred to stay in the background, sometimes having the company of one of the men that had come to see him all those years ago. It usually took the bystanders a few moments to understand what this meant, and those that hadn’t known of Yuuri’s calling would learn of it then and there.

Their reaction was always the same: amazement, wonder, and eventually, they would pretend not to see him. His reputation as an archer usually became obsolete the moment they learnt of his nature.

For Yuuri, who had never liked being the centre of attention, their ignorance was more than welcome most days.

* * *

It was a few days later when Mari came and told Yuuri that their father wanted to see him at some other clan’s tent.

“Why?” Yuuri asked, putting down the bucket of water he had been carrying for his mother, and wiping his hands on his clothes.

“Don’t know,” Mari shrugged. “Something about archery. Take you bow with you.”

Yuuri nodded, going inside to grab his weapon. He had made it himself in the summer he had turned fifteen, with the help of his father and with the final blessing of Priestess Minako. The bowyer of the village had helped out as well, praising Yuuri for his skill and indeed, it had become a good bow. It was the appropriate size and weight, elegantly carved from the best wood he had been able to find, and Yuuri usually carried it with him wherever he went when he was at home. It was the only thing that made other people respect him, not for who he was destined to be, but for his skills. It reminded him that he was also the clan leader’s son – and not just a sacred one.

With his bow in his hands, Yuuri made his way through the temporary settlement, following the directions Mari had given him. The tent she directed him was larger than others, richly ornamented and standing on a small hill. A small group of men sat in front of it, playing some sort of game, looking up as he approached. Yuuri nodded in greeting and walked past them, feeling their eyes on him as he entered the tent.

From the inside, it looked like many others, not much different from their own, actually. His father sat at the fireplace in the middle, opposite to a man that Yuuri had long forgotten, and had not thought of in ages. He was tall, even when sitting, his facial features sharp and his hair of such a light colour that it seemed almost white. His clothing was made of grey and white fur and leather. And despite he was older now, Yuuri immediately recognised him as the clan leader he had first seen all those years ago.

Beside him sat a woman with hair of the same colour, about the same age as Yuuri’s own mother, looking at him with kind, yet expectant eyes.

“There he is,” Toshiya said. “My son, Yuuri.”

The other clan leader inclined his head to him in greeting. “The famous archer,” he said, his accent thick as he spoke. “Your father told me of your bow. He said you made it yourself.”

Yuuri blinked in surprise. Most clan leaders refused to speak to the children of other clan leaders as a rule, preferring to speak with them – or, about them, really – through their parents. And this man had to be a clan leader of higher standing, even, judging by the state of his tent, and by the clothes he wore.

“You can answer him, Yuuri,” Toshiya said encouragingly.

Yuuri snapped out of his thoughts. “I- y-yes, I made it myself, master,” he replied, bowing his head politely, just the way he had been taught.

“May I see it?” The clan leader asked, holding out his pale hand.

Yuuri exchanged a glance with his father, only to receive a nod in return. Carefully, he placed his weapon in the stranger’s hands, watching as it was examined with experienced eyes. Yuuri let his eyes wander, spotting a few well-made bows nearby.

Perhaps this man was a merchant, too, of some sort?

“Good work,” he said eventually. “Good balance. You have good skills.”

Yuuri blushed. “Thank you, master,” he said.

“But fine hands,” the woman, most likely his wife, remarked, her gaze lingering on Yuuri’s hands. “You don’t work hard, no?”

“He is the best archer in the village there, no?” The clan leader asked his father.

Toshiya nodded. “He hunts for us most of the time. And he helps his mother wherever he can around the house.”

The clan leader nodded. “He has a caring nature,” he said, regarding Yuuri with a long look before returning the bow to him. “This is good. You can be proud.”

“Thank you, master,” Yuuri said and bowed deeply, exchanging a glance with his father, not sure if he was supposed to stay. But one look of his father was enough to send him out, past the curious men playing games and back to their own tent, holding his bow firmly in his hand the entire way. He set it down by the entrance, making sure no one would accidentally step on it, and went to help his mother with her work.

It was not long until his father returned as well, thankfully taking the food his wife had made for him, and the family ate in comfortable silence. Yuuri tried to ask him who the other clan leader had been, but Toshiya made a dismissive gesture with his hand, indicating that this was not the right moment to talk about it. Mari then tried to change the subject, announcing she would meet with a few friends and asked Yuuri if he wanted to join, but he politely declined. Perhaps he could make some more arrows before the next competition.

He was sitting outside their tent, sharpening the arrows he already hand, when his father called him inside and asked him to take a seat. His mother was also there, looking at him warmly, but with an anticipation in her eyes that he had never seen on her before. Yuuri did as he was told and sat down at the fire, looking at his father expectantly.

Toshiya said nothing for a long moment. Instead, he kept looking at the cup in his hands, as if he were not sure how to approach the conversation he had called Yuuri in for.

“The man you were showing your bow earlier was Nikita. Leader of all clans in the north,” he explained. “You may have seen him before. He used to travel down to our settlements a lot when you were a child.”

“I remember him,” Yuuri said, exchanging a glance with his mother. “But I didn’t know that it was him.”

Nikita was a name that everyone knew, men and women, adults and children alike. He had unified the northern clans after years of war, was considered a hero, and favoured by the gods. Once he had become leader of all northern clans, he had stopped visiting, but it had not been surprising to anyone.

“Now you know,” Toshiya said and cleared his throat. “Yuuri, he wanted to see you to get a first impression of you.”

Hiroko beamed at her son, as if the gods themselves had come to deliver the greatest of news, but Yuuri understood none of it. He frowned, his gaze wandering back and forth between his mother and father.

“A first impression?” He asked cautiously. “For what?”

Toshiya exchanged a glance with his wife.

“Yuuri, Nikita is considering you as a potential match for his eldest son.”

* * *

Usually, the archery competition was the only time Yuuri felt in his element, as if he belonged.

This time, however, he felt the burden of his calling heavy on his shoulders.

For years, he had been able to push the majority of thoughts regarding his ‘nature’, as his parents still called it, out of his mind. He had been content with his life as it was, hunting alongside his father and sister, taking over as the one to bring meat home when his father’s old injuries began to make problems. From his mother, he had learnt everything there was to know about herbs and their healing powers. From Minako, he had learnt to read the will of the gods in nature, to keep his eyes and ears open for the things that existed between the gods and the people. Educating himself to become able to live independently had been his goal, and he had succeeded in it, knowing that there were few people who would accept a sacred one, let alone into their families, as their partners in marriage.

And then, he had met Nikita.

The war hero stood at the sides with other clan leaders, his hair shining bright in the afternoon sun. Amongst all men, he stood out the most, not only due to his appearance, but in the way he held himself – proud, strong, and aware of himself. At the same time, there was a kindness about him, but each time Yuuri looked at him, he was reminded of how scared he had been of the man all those years ago.

A healthy amount of respect had remained in Yuuri since then, and the knowledge of why Nikita had come to watch a competition between youths did not help to soothe his nerves.

Nikita was the last person Yuuri would have expected to consider him as a potential match for his son – a person Yuuri still had yet to meet. Most families would kill for the opportunity to have one of their children marry into Nikita’s clan, let alone for the influence the family would gain from it. Yuuri hoped that other clans had not yet heard of what was going on between their families, for if they learnt that Nikita was showing interest in a sacred one, their own family would not be able to save themselves from nosy visitors.

The fact that Nikita was aware of his calling and did not find it disturbing at all had surprised Yuuri greatly. His father had told him that Nikita had heard the rumours a while ago, and had had his suspicions about it being Toshiya’s son, but had wanted to see if his suspicions could be confirmed. Therefore, calling for Yuuri had not only been to see his bow – although it had been genuine interest, according to Toshiya – but to take a look at the man himself.

Others his age got engaged all the time, Yuuri thought as he picked out his first arrow. He was seventeen now, taller than his parents had thought he would become, and stronger, too. He was still a little soft around the middle – part of his blessing, Minako claimed – but he was resilient, no longer the sickly child he once had been.

But other men did not carry their souls in their bellies. Other men did not bleed like women did.

But then again, even before learning about his true nature, Yuuri had never been like other boys.

Together with him, a handful others would compete that day. Only the winners of recent competitions were allowed to participate, and Yuuri happened to be one of them. One by one, they would try to shoot the arrow into the heart of a wooden post, from a considerable distance. It was nothing Yuuri had not done before, but it was windy, the ground uneven, and Nikita himself was keeping an eye on him.

He could not disappoint his parents.

And, most of all, he could not disappoint himself and lose, proving that he was a disgrace of a son.

That a sacred one should not stand amongst men.

It was something Yuuri had heard many times once he had started competing, and each time others learnt about him being a sacred one, there had been protests. But there was no law, the priestesses claimed, no sign from the gods, that forbade him to compete.

It disturbed them even more when Yuuri won.

Every single time.

Yuuri would be the last to shoot his arrow. It was the supreme discipline – one attempt per person per round, until one arrow had hit the aim. It could either take minutes, or hours.

It all depended on the skill of the archers.

Yuuri stepped back, holding his bow firmly in his hands as his fellow competitors entered the field, among them a few familiar faces. In total, there were five of them, six including Yuuri. The first two greeted him with a brief nod, barely enough to acknowledge his presence. Yuuri looked away, busying himself with his bow so that he didn’t have to face the others as well. He knew what he would see in their faces anyway. It was always the same expression, a mixture of surprise and disgust.

He had more important things to worry about these days.

The first archer missed spectacularly – Yuuri did not have to see him in order to know, for the crowd let out a disappointed sigh, and from somewhere, a male voice shouted something that sounded very much like “A disgrace for your family!”

The second archer missed as well, but narrowly, it seemed. Yuuri picked another arrow, checking it for any splinters. No, this one would do. He had made it himself, even knew from which tree he had taken the twig, and he had thanked the gods of the forest for lending him a piece of them.

“Fucking hell,” someone beside him muttered, and as Yuuri looked up, he saw that the fourth archer had missed as well, the fifth now preparing to shoot.

And Yuuri could not help but stare.

He was tall, lean, and muscular, his clothing tight against his body yet leaving enough room to comfortably move. The bow in his hand was perfectly carved, made of only the best wood. It took Yuuri not longer than a few seconds to see that. The fingers grabbing it were long, slender and pale, leading up to muscular arms with the tension visible in them, whilst the rest of his body remaining completely still.

And then, there was his face. Sharp, defined features, a face sculpted by the gods themselves, framed by long, silver hair that had been pulled back into a long, simple braid.

He shot.

And the arrow found its aim.

The crowd erupted into loud cheers, going absolutely wild for the man they already deemed the winter, shouting his name, the wind carrying it with him across the field to Yuuri.

He didn’t understand a single word, let alone a name.

The archer seemed entirely unfazed by it all, for he turned his head and looked Yuuri in the eye, before gesturing at the post in the distance. Yuuri understood. The competition was not over yet, after all, not until the last archer had had his chance.

The cheers died down as Yuuri walked past the apparent winner of the competition and took his position on the field, his fingers tightly wrapped around his bow. He could feel the hours, the months, yes, the years he had spent with this bow, could feel the lives of the animals that he had taken down with it, all of it running through his fingers right into his veins.

He could hear them whisper, but oh, Yuuri could not have cared less. He knew their thoughts, he knew that they wanted the other one to be the winner, to see him, a sacred one, where he belonged in their eyes – far away from the crowd, not in their midst.

But Yuuri had fought for his place, and he would keep it.

For a brief moment, he closed his eyes to compose himself. And then, after taking one last breath, he opened his eyes, drew the string back, and let go.

The arrow shot straight through the air, right at its aim, splitting the other arrow in half with a stomach-turning crack.

For a moment, it was deadly silent on the field, both archers and spectators unable to believe what they had just witnessed. Yuuri lowered his arms, releasing the breath he had not realised he had been holding, and could not help but smile a little at where his arrow had landed.

Silently, he sent a prayer of gratitude to the gods.

“It’s a draw!” Someone shouted, and the crowd began to cheer, for this had never happened before – at least not in such a competition, where both competitors had shown their best skill and simply could not best the other. They had both honourably won, it seemed, and before Yuuri could even turn around to see Nikita’s reaction, he was surrounded by Mari, Yuuko, and their friends, all of them eager to meet the sacred one that had won.

“That was amazing, Yuuri!” Yuuko screamed, hugging him tightly. “Did you see their faces? Now no one will ever say that sacred ones shouldn’t compete!”

“Mari, who-“ Yuuri freed himself from the many hugs, reaching for his sister. “Mari, who was he? I’ve never seen skills like that before.”

Mari raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know?” She asked, pulling him out of the crowd so that he could see across the field where his fellow competitor was being equally surrounded by friends.

“He is Nikita’s eldest son, Yuuri. His name is Viktor.”

“He…” Yuuri stared at his sister with wide eyes. Slowly, he turned his head, watching as Nikita’s son was being tossed into the air by his friends, some of them throwing their arms around him, pulling him along to celebrate this rare occasion of a draw. But then, Viktor himself turned around, looking right at him.

Yuuri stared back.

Viktor began to smile, the joy written clearly all over his face as he raised his hand and waved, calling to him in the strange, rough language Yuuri had only ever heard from his father.

Yuuri blinked.

And then, he turned around and ran.

* * *

It was Mari who eventually found him in their tent, scrubbing away the dirt from his shoes frantically until she grasped him by his wrists.

“You forgot this,” she said and dropped a necklace into his lap. “You won. Idiot.”

Yuuri blinked in confusion, staring down at the simple necklace she had dropped on him before picking it up. “It was a draw,” he merely said, causing Mari to huff.

“Draw or not, you won. Both of you won,” she added, sitting down by the fire to warm her hands. “Nikita wanted Viktor to give you the thing in person, but you ran away.”

“Sorry,” Yuuri murmured, but Mari merely shrugged.

“You were overwhelmed, I guess.”

“I didn’t know it was him,” Yuuri said quietly, looking up from the necklace at his sister. “If… If I had known that he-“

“Then you wouldn’t have been able to give your best,” Mari interrupted him calmly.

Yuuri knew she was right. His nerves had never been the best, for they often took control of him and messed with his head, making him worry endlessly. Just like now. He had not just won against anyone. No, he had won together with a certain someone.

He had split the arrow of Nikita’s eldest son in half.

The man he was perhaps going to marry.

Before either Mari nor Yuuri could say anything else, the flap of the tent was pushed aside and their mother and father came in – followed by the last person Yuuri wanted to see right now.

“There you are,” Hiroko sighed in relief and went to hug her son. “Yuuri, you did so well!”

“Incredibly well, even!” Toshiya said proudly. “You did not only win, but caused a draw. Both of you won! Nikita is very pleased.”

“Father,” Yuuri began weakly, carefully freeing himself from his mother’s embrace. “Father, I cannot-“

Toshiya made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Nothing has been decided yet,” he told him, and Yuuri exhaled in relief. “But for now, Nikita and his wife are very impressed. And so is their son, I believe.”

“I didn’t know it was him,” Yuuri whispered. “Otherwise-“

“Don’t even go there, Yuuri,” Mari warned him. “You rightfully won and put him into second place. He didn’t even look mad about it.”

“Did you speak to him?” Hiroko asked immediately.

Mari huffed. “No, Yuuri ran away when Viktor said something to him. I don’t know what, though. It was Russian.”

“Oh…” Hiroko exchanged a look with her husband, but Toshiya did not seem to be worried about that.

“Nikita’s wife would like to speak to you next,” he said to Hiroko. “To you and Yuuri. It is a convention in their clan that the mothers have the final say in the matter. Only if you and her deem the match appropriate we will have the boys meet.”

“Viktor is hardly a boy, father,” Mari remarked. “He’s twenty-one.”

“And still unmarried?” Hiroko asked. “I wonder why that is.”

The explanation they received the following day, sitting by the fire in Nikita’s tent.

Yuuri could not remember the last time he had felt so immensely uncomfortable. Perhaps when Minako had announced she was to examine him from head to toe after his first blood. But even then, he had felt some sense of security with Mari nearby, and he had been in the safety of his home.

Now, he sat beside his mother under the ever-watchful eyes of Nikita’s wife Yelena, feeling how she picked him apart, bit by bit. In their hands, they held cups with the wine they had brought with them from the north, the beverage itself warm and fresh from the pot over the fire. But it did little to ease the knot in Yuuri’s stomach.

Never before had he been in a situation so strange, so tense, and it certainly did not help that neither Yelena nor his own mother were talking.

Just when he thought the silence could not become more unbearable, the flap of the tent was pushed aside and a boy of roughly twelve years walked in, beginning to complain in Russian as he kicked off his boots.

Yelena said something that sounded very much like a bark to Yuuri, and the boy froze on the spot. Yelena snapped her fingers, pointing at where the boy had come from, her blue eyes narrow. The boy turned around without another word, grabbing his shoes and leaving in complete silence.

“I am sorry,” she said finally, and much to Yuuri’s surprise, in their language. Her accent was even thicker than her husband’s. “My son. Yuri.”

“Huh?” Yuuri blinked.

“Ah.” Yelena chuckled, bringing her own cup to her lips. “My son. He has your name. But short.”

“What a coincidence,” Hiroko smiled, looking at her own child. “I’ve always thought it a beautiful name.”

“We say Yura,” Yelena explained. “For child. Or in love. If Yuuri comes, my son is Yura. Much easier.”

“I see,” Hiroko nodded, thanking the woman as she poured her another cup of hot wine. Yuuri had not yet touch his. Yelena noticed it, giving him a long, thoughtful look.

Viktor has her eyes, he thought.

“You taught Viktor good lesson,” she said. “He is always proud. Thinks he is best. But you show him truth. He is best at home, yes, but not in the world.”

Yuuri felt his face turn red at the praise – at least he thought that she was praising him, for he could not truly tell. Her eyes were still studying him critically, as if she were expecting a certain flaw to come up any second.

But then, she looked away again, clasping her hands on her lap. Sitting like that, she was an impressive figure, almost like a queen.

“Viktor has no love for woman,” she told them plainly. “We tried. But gods made him stubborn. We worried, because he will lead one day. But how, without a child?”

Yuuri looked down at his lap, knowing where this conversation was heading. And he did not want any of it.

“Nikita heard of Yuuri,” she continued. “He was not sure, but Toshiya said it is true. It was foretold.” She regarded Yuuri with a long, attentive look, before returning her attention to Hiroko again. “We do not question the gods in the north. We live by them. If gods make Yuuri sacred, they make no mistake. No, they bless him, and it is good. _He_ is good.”

She put such a clear emphasis on her final words that Yuuri could not help but look at her in awe, for it was the first time that a stranger had said so, without having any doubts of his personality based on what the gods had chosen for him.

Yelena gave him a small smile before looking at Hiroko again. “Do you like deer from north?” She asked, gesturing at the dried meat hanging from the ceiling. “It is good with beer.”

And just so, within the blink of an eye, a shared dinner had been arranged between the families, with such subtlety that Yuuri almost missed it. Only as Hiroko had explained it to Yuuri on the way back to their own tent, he had realised that slowly, everything was becoming set in stone.

“I don’t understand, Mama,” he said, reaching out to take her arm. “What… what does all of this mean?”

Hiroko turned around to him, taking him by his hands, giving them a firm, reassuring squeeze. “You will marry soon, my love,” she said. “And you will do so exceptionally well.”

That night, Yuuri had stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep.

* * *

Nikita himself was much less intimidating than Yuuri had thought.

Upon arriving at their tent – which had been richly ornamented just for the occasion, it seemed – Nikita greeted Yuuri warmly, as if he had not been running from him, congratulating him once more to his spectacular performance at the competition. Yuuri barely managed to stutter a soft thank-you, earning laughter and praise. Yelena herself was also less intimidating than she had first been, now that Yuuri knew she meant no harm. She greeted him the way she had before, with a polite nod, before snapping at her younger son to finally behave himself. Yuuri’s namesake scowled at him for a moment, as if he were the sole reason he was being shouted at, before he went to sit by the fire and wait for dinner.

The one person Yuuri could barely look in the eye, however, was Viktor.

Nikita had seated Yuuri right opposite of his son, where they had no other choice but to look at each other every time they lifted their heads. Never before had Yuuri felt so uncomfortable in another person’s presence, simply out of fear of not being liked. After all, he had destroyed an undoubtedly expensive arrow. If Viktor had made it himself, which Yuuri strongly suspected by looking at the lower arms of the other man, then he had destroyed a piece of long, hard work, too.

The conversation during dinner, as it turned out, hardly concerned either Yuuri or Viktor, in the end. It was more an exchange about recent events, or things the other party had missed. After all, Nikita had not been able to travel south anymore after uniting the northern clans, and he and Toshiya seemed to have a lot of catching up to do. Hiroko and Yelena were part of the conversation, too, switching from Russian back to their language and so forth. Yuuri was barely able to follow the conversation, and, so it dawned on him eventually, so was Viktor.

They did not even speak the language of the other.

As the extent of this realisation hit him, Yuuri could not help but stare at the other man. Viktor was breathtakingly beautiful in the light of the fire, his long, silver hair almost the colour of moonlight. His eyes were as blue as his mother’s, his features the ones of his father, although a deep frown adorned his face at the moment as he tried to get at least the gist of what was being said.

Suddenly, as if he had been feeling Yuuri’s eyes on him, he turned his head, and for the second time, Yuuri felt as if the other man’s eyes were looking right into his soul, finding things there that not even Yuuri was aware of.

But as sudden as the moment had come, it was over again, and they both averted their eyes in embarrassment.

Their parents laughed heartily.

Fortunately, they did not stay for too long. Once they had all emptied their plates and cups, Nikita exchanged a few quick words with Toshiya in Russian, upon which both men looked at their wives expectantly. Hiroko and Yelena merely nodded.

Yuuri knew then that their fate had been decided.

He stood quietly behind his parents as they wished Nikita and Yelena a good night, their hosts thanking them for their visit as if it had been an ordinary evening, and not essentially the turning point in the lives of their children. Nikita gave Yuuri an approving nod, something of which Yuuri know all of his peers would have died for, to be noticed by the war hero himself.

Yuuri barely managed to meet the other man’s eye.

They had barely walked a few steps as a voice called out his name behind them, accentuated, but clear. “Yuuri!”

Yuuri turned around, his eyes wide as he found Viktor himself coming towards him, only stopping when he was right in front of him. Even in the light of the torches that had been pushed into the ground by their feet he could see the blush on Viktor’s handsome face, and it was for that that he almost missed the fact that Victor was putting something into his open palms.

Viktor then said something and stormed off again, disappearing into the tent of his family.

Yuuri stood there, staring after him, utterly confused.

“What the hell was that?” Mari asked, moving over to Yuuri to see what he had been handed.

It was a necklace. The very same that Yuuri had won at the competition. But this one was Viktor’s, the one had received for being the winner as well, just as richly ornamented and elegantly cut as the other.

“What… what did he say?” Yuuri asked in confusion, staring at the necklace in his hands and turning around to his father, who had come to inspect the necklace as well.

Toshiya chuckled, patting Yuuri’s shoulder. “He said ‘you were better’.”

“But…” Yuuri looked down at the necklace once more, and then back at the tent of his betrothed. A strange, warm feeling had begun to settle in his belly, a feeling he had never experienced before. “Does he know that I’m…” He didn’t say it out loud.

Toshiya nodded. “He does,” he said. “Come now.”

And Yuuri followed.


	2. The Song of Wolves and Lynxes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Just.... wow!  
I honestly did not think that anyone would read this, and now this story got more kudos and comments within a day than my other current WIP! Thank you so much!
> 
> Please note that this chapter covers the time span of an entire year!
> 
> \-------------------  
I would like to clear up some confusion that came up in the comments. 
> 
> As many of you already know from the YOI Discord server, this work was inspired, aka got myself to finally do it, by the amazing Chorus in Aurorae by Salty_Caramel. 
> 
> This AU is something I've had sitting in my WIP folder for some time, initially meant to be a Sherlock (BBC) fanfiction, but I never dared to post - because I honestly thought no one would read stuff like that, and I honestly doubted that such a setting would work with YOI. After reading their fic I decided to give it a try. It is absolutely right that my fic does sound similar to theirs, but you have my word that I'm neither trying to steal from them, nor trying to rewrite theirs, because Chorus in Aurorae is perfect as it is. My main ideas I actually borrow from Game of Thrones as well as some other novels of that genre. The plot, as you will see, is also different. I understand that the beginning of this story may sound very much like Chorus in Aurorae, but it is not and has never been my intention to copy the work of Salty_Caramel, or take their story as a starting point to mine. 
> 
> I hope that (should you choose to continue reading) you can see that I'm following a different storyline, heavily led by Viktor's father. I would never dare to steal from another writer. I'm an academic and know of the harm done by such practice. The person who pointed this issue out was absolutely right to do so. 
> 
> I just discovered that Ao3 makes it possible to refer to works of inspiration, and I have now done so.

The meeting of the clans ended a few days after their engagement had been decided. Until then, Yuuri had barely left his family’s tent, busying himself with taking care of his bow and the arrows, regardless of the fact they were already in perfect condition. It was better than going outside, however, and expose himself to the talk of the others.

It had not taken long for the rest of the clans to hear that the son of Nikita had become engaged. Naturally, they had been curious to find out who the lucky woman was that would marry into the prestigious northern clan – only to raise their eyebrows and clear their throats to inquire if they had heard correctly. That Nikita’s son and heir, one of the two winners of the competition, would marry the son of Toshiya – who was not only a man, but a sacred one on top of that.

It was nothing unusual for a man to marry another man – no, truly, stranger things had happened. But none of those had ever been heirs of important men, and none of them had ever been sacred.

It had taken Yuuri exactly one walk to the river and back to realise that for the rest of the meeting, he would certainly not leave their tent again. He was used to being looked at, but not to such an extent. People would stop in their tracks to look at him, even point at him and whisper behind raised hands. Yuuri knew the rumours, was aware that some people still believed sacred ones to possess magical powers that could mess with other people’s minds. They probably thought that he had bewitched Viktor during the competition, even if they did not dare to say it out loud.

It was only Nikita’s name, and his reputation, that saved both Yuuri and Viktor from worse talk.

They had taken down their tent and loaded their things onto their cart, finishing just after sunrise. It would take them an entire day to reach their home if the roads were clear, and even if they were, they would arrive after nightfall. Yuuri had been helping his parents the entire morning, taking the heavy boxes from his mother and loading them onto the cart, trying everything to avoid the inevitable. But then, the time had come to say goodbye, and Yuuri stood awkwardly beside his parents as they exchanged a few final words with Nikita and Yelena.

The fact that soon, he would be part of their family, was something Yuuri had been trying to avoid thinking about. The only thing that soothed Yuuri to at least some degree was that Nikita and Yelena seemed to be decent people and their kindness appeared genuine. What their son was like, however, he could not tell, for he had not spoken to Viktor since the evening he had received the necklace from him.

He looked good in the light of the morning sun, Yuuri thought, his long, silvery hair falling down his neck in an intricate braid. It surely was a lot of work to have hair like that, and Yuuri could not help but wonder if he took care of it himself. In his own village, only women wore their hair like that, but he had to admit that it suited Viktor very much.

Only as Yuuri heard Nikita say his name, he was pulled out of his thoughts. His father patted his back proudly as Nikita spoke, of what, however, Yuuri could not tell, for it was Russian. But it had to be something concerning their engagement, Yuuri thought, for Viktor turned dark red and his younger brother made a retching sound – only to receive a smack to the back of his head in return by his mother.

“I said, I hope that you will think fondly of my son until the time comes that you marry,” Nikita said, looking Yuuri directly in the eye. They were grey, Yuuri noticed, not blue like his wife’s or Viktor’s, but full of warmth nonetheless. There was no doubt as to why they had made him the leader of all clans in the north, and why they followed him blindly, swearing their loyalty to him. He was a good and just man, that much Yuuri knew. An unusual one, on top of that, a man who did not think badly of him for being a sacred one. Who looked him in the eye and treated him with respect.

In his family, he would be treated well.

“I’m sure that he will,” Toshiya said, giving Yuuri a firm pat to his shoulder. “Perhaps we should let them speak to each other for a moment? Now that they are betrothed, there should be no harm to it, I dare say?”

Yuuri stared at his father in shock, but Yelena had already translated what had been said to Viktor, nudging him with her elbow and eventually pushing him forward towards Yuuri before the clan leaders continued their conversation about this and that as if there had been no interruption at all.

They stared at each other for a long moment, neither of them seeming able to speak. Never before had they been so close to each other, looking each other in the eye without restrictions, without their parents keeping them at a distance. Yuuri noticed the redness in the other man’s cheeks, the unmistakable blush that had spread across Viktor’s undeniably beautiful face. Could it be that Viktor, despite being the strong and celebrated heir of the great Nikita, was just as nervous and unsure about what the future held as Yuuri?

“I…” Yuuri began, but trailed off, remembering that Viktor would not understand a word of what he was saying. But the moment the sound had left his mouth, Viktor’s eyes had begun to shine, sparkling even in anticipation, only to be replaced with resignation as the other man seemed to come to the same conclusion. Nikita and his wife seemed to speak the language a least a little, but it seemed that they had not taught their son.

But then again, Yuuri thought, what was there that he could actually say to Viktor? What could he say to make this easier for both of them? Could he perhaps assure him that he was not bringing misfortune, despite being a sacred one?

“The necklace,” Mari muttered from beside Yuuri, nudging him with her elbow. “Thank him.”

“R-Right!” Yuuri stuttered and reached into the pouch he kept on his belt, pulling out the metal necklace that Victor had tossed into his hands a few days ago. It had sat heavily in his pouch all the time, and Yuuri had only ever dared to take it out at night, turning it in his hands and studying the carved patterns. Now, he held it in his hands again, hoping that perhaps through the necklace, the gods would give him some strength to get the words out.

“I… I wanted to thank you for the necklace,” he said to Viktor, who was looking at him in awe. “I don’t think that I’m better than you at archery, but it was an honour to compete with you.”

Viktor, of course, had absolutely no idea what he had said, but he began to smile nonetheless. An excited spate of harsh, Russian words washed over Yuuri as Victor began to gesture with his hand. It took Yuuri a while to realise – with greatest embarrassment to be reminded of it again – that he was demonstrating a splitting bow. But Viktor seemed not to be upset about it the least, for he was smiling, a smile so incredibly wide that Yuuri could barely take his eyes off him, and talking at such a speed as if nothing could ever stop him.

A laugh broke the spell between them, and Nikita appeared at his son’s side, patting his shoulder as he spoke. In an instant, Viktor’s face fell and he averted his gaze in clear embarrassment for his sudden outburst, but Nikita only chuckled, just like Toshiya.

“I believe it is time for us to go,” Hiroko said, glancing at the rising sun. “Otherwise we won’t make it home before midnight.”

“Indeed,” Toshiya said and embraced Nikita. “Have a good trip north, my friend. May the gods protect you on your way.”

“And may they protect you, too,” Nikita said as he let go of Toshiya, casually resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. “For you carry a most precious good with you.”

Yuuri could feel the man’s eyes linger on him, but did not meet his gaze, keeping his eyes fixed on the necklace in his hands.

“Yuuri,” Hiroko said softly. “Don’t you want to give him something?”

Yuuri looked up, finding his mother gesturing at the pouch on his belt where he also kept his own necklace, his very own reward for the successful competition.

Was this what was expected of him, in the eyes of the northern clan? Perhaps it was a custom, he realised in horror, to gift one’s betrothed something personal before getting married, and he had been an ignorant fool all the time.

Immediately, he reached into his pouch and pulled out his own necklace, holding it out to Viktor, who blinked at him in slight confusion.

“This is mine,” Yuuri told him, trying to sound a lot braver than he felt. “I… I want you to have it. U-Until we meet again, that is.”

A pair of large, pale hands cupped his own, holding them as if they were made of glass, the holiest thing ever to be touched. Yuuri stared at Viktor, the intimacy of the gesture known to them all, for those betrothed never touched, not until the day they became one in the eyes of the gods.

Yuuri held his breath.

“Spasibo,” Viktor said softly. It was the only word that Yuuri knew, the Russian expression for gratitude.

And his heart, his oh so treacherous heart, fluttered at the sound of it.

“Vitya!” Yelena gasped in faked shock and their moment was over, Viktor dropping Yuuri’s hands again but holding the necklace tightly in his own, as if afraid of losing it if he were not careful enough.

Their parents only laughed at their embarrassment.

“To be young again, and to suffer the sweet pains of first love,” Hiroko chuckled and gently put her hand on Yuuri’s shoulders from behind. “We are very much looking forward to seeing you again. And until then, our Yuuri will make us even prouder than we already are.”

“I am sure,” Yelena said, inclining her head politely to Yuuri’s parents, and then to Yuuri himself. “May the gods keep you in their embrace.”

There was something in her eyes that Yuuri could not explain, a mother’s warmth in them but also determination, and so much more that could not possibly be discovered. Perhaps, Yuuri thought, it was not even meant to be.

He could feel Viktor’s eyes on him, too, the awareness of it sending shivers down his spine as he mounted his horse. Only once more, he dared to look at him, his heart beating fast in his chest as he saw what Viktor was doing – cradling Yuuri’s necklace in his hands as if it were a most precious good.

And so, with their best wishes in their heart to guide them home, they left. The sun and the moon were their companions on the way back south, both of them visible at the sky, a rare and spectacular sight and a gift by the gods themselves. Night and day, day and night, could not exist in the same realm, for sun and moon were opposites. To see them both, standing side by side, was a sign, Yuuri knew that.

But he knew too little of the gods, and not enough of divinity, to understand what sun and moon foretold.

* * *

They did not see each other for a whole year.

Yuuri found that the time went by much slower than it usually did, the days stretching out endlessly from dawn until dusk. But perhaps it was because his days were different now that it felt different to him. Before the meeting of the clans, his days had been filled with work around the house to help his mother, and hunts in the early morning. Some afternoons had been spent with Minako, learning from her to read the signs of the gods in nature, and to understand their will.

Now that he was engaged, his daily life had taken a different turn. He still helped his mother with her daily tasks and went hunting for the family, but now that his fate had been decided, and his mate chosen, he was no longer considered a youth.

He was a young adult now, and with great expectations for his future.

Those that were engaged were encouraged to learn more about their betrothed, to perfect themselves and their skills, to create gifts and work hard to prove themselves worthy of the other.

In Yuuri’s case, it meant to learn everything that there was about the clan that would become his family. His betrothed lived too far away for Yuuri to see him, so there was nothing else he could do than to prepare himself the best he could.

It was Minako who taught him, for she was the most learned among them, and direct messenger of the gods. From her, Yuuri learnt the history of the Nikiforov clan. Their own clan descended from lynxes, but Viktor’s ancestors had been snow wolves, roaming the endless nights and howling at the moon. One day, Minako told him, the goddess of the moon had visited the earthly realm, and given a pack of wolves the shape of humans. With the gifts of the goddess, they had settled in the north, becoming the first clan to ever settle in the eternal night.

The eternal night had long since become a thing of the past, but the rhythm of sun and moon would be different in the north, that much Yuuri knew. As a child, he had been told many stories by his father, stories about places where the sun never left and night never came. Of course, those stories had been a clear exaggeration. But indeed, there was a time when the sun didn’t truly set in the far north. And sometimes, Minako told him with eyes shining in wonder, one could see the spirits of the night dance in the sky in the most beautiful colours.

As magnificent as all her stories sounded, Yuuri could not shake off the feeling that the north would be a world where he could never truly belong. For he was a child of the south, a child of the forest and the sea. How could he possibly survive, he wondered, in a world of ice?

And in a community whose language he did not speak?

His father’s knowledge of Russian was limited, at best, barely enough to point out objects and exchange little pieces of information. Furthermore, Toshiya had not used his Russian for quite some time, and had forgotten most of it. Minako was unable to help either, not speaking the language of the Northerners at all. Yuuri would have to learn it as he went.

Until then, he would have to find other ways to communicate with his husband.

Viktor was not too much on his mind at first, but the closer the change of seasons came, and with it the date of his departure, Yuuri could not deny that on the fateful day of the competition, Viktor had left a deep impression on him. And not just that. The way Viktor had looked at him on their final day, the feeling of their hands briefly touching, the warmth flowing from his hands into his own – all of it drew a picture of the man in Yuuri’s head, a picture of which he could not know if it would prove to be true or a terrible mistake. Viktor had appeared kind to him, but would he truly be this way?

What if, once they were married, Viktor showed his true face, cruel and heartless?

When he told Minako about his concerns, she was quick to dispel his fears.

“Do you really think that a man raised by his mother only would treat his mate with cruelty?” She asked him, causing Yuuri even more confusion. That he had not known. Despite the fact that Nikita had frequently travelled south, he surely had played a part in his son’s upbringing, had he not?

“He was raised by Yelena?” Yuuri asked. “I thought he was trained by Nikita.”

“But Yuuri,” Minako said, her surprisingly youthful face now adorned with a deep frown, and she paused in her task of preparing a brew of healing herbs. “Viktor and his mother lived the first few years of his life in slavery. Did you not know?”

* * *

Viktor remembered very little of his early childhood.

What he remembered, however, was that his father had not been around most of the time. Not that he had been needed, anyway. His mother ruled the clan with an iron fist without her husband, holding her head high and the name of the family even higher. After the hardship they had endured, she held herself like the queen that she was, and the people had always admired Yelena for it.

At the same time, she made sure that her son never forgot where they came from. That nothing, absolutely nothing in this world, was to be taken for granted. That any second, the gods could take everything away from them again, leave them naked and without protection, and at the mercy of the spirits lingering in the winter nights.

Viktor still remembered the cold that had once inhabited his bones. But he had been too young to actually remember what their life had been like, the years of hardship he and his mother had endured until his father and their men had conquered the settlements of the enemy and taken them home.

His mother had grown out her hair again, wearing it long and proud, braiding it in the most beautiful ways. His father had combed it for her, her silvery locks running through his fingers like the gentle waves of water. Viktor had watched them from under his warm furs, in awe of how his parents looked at each other full of love and adoration. That was why he could not understand that his father left so very often, for it made his mother cry when she believed no one could see her. Viktor hated his father for it, hated him for leaving them alone so often, for making his mother sad. If his father loved his mother so much, then why did he leave her alone, for weeks, for months, even?

When Viktor told his mother that he hated his father, she had slapped him hard, and had ordered him to never say such a thing ever again if he wanted to see the next day.

When he told his uncle Yakov, he had been slapped again, and Viktor learnt to keep his mouth shut.

His father had returned together with the sun of summer, bringing wealth and fortunes to their clan. For his mother, he brought the most beautiful jewels, the softest of furs, the prettiest of combs.

And for his son, he brought a polished, elegant bow.

Viktor had not known what to do with it, for he had never seen a weapon as beautiful as this one before. In their clan, most men hunted with spears, and a few of them with swords, but no one actually used a bow. His first attempts had been terrible, for he had not known how to handle it at all.

But then, one morning, he had accompanied his father on a hunt. For some reason that Viktor did not yet understand, his father had chosen to stay for good, travelling never too far, always returning in time. Around the same time, his mother’s belly began to swell with new life. A good man, a good husband, protected his mate – that was an unspoken rule, a truth known by everyone, even by young Viktor. And therefore, he had to learn how to do that, too. How to care and provide for others, so that he would be able to become a man one day.

Learning to hunt was only the first step on a long journey.

The bow, his father told him, had been made by a master in the south. It was of the finest quality, made by a man with blessed hands. After seeing was a bow could do, Viktor was obsessed, wanting to learn everything there was about this extraordinary tool. And his father promised he would find him a teacher, but that this would have to wait for a little while, until the gods’ will had been performed.

The gods’ will, as it turned out, had been the birth of his brother Yuri.

Said brother now shot angry arrows at the post in the distance, screaming louder in frustration with every missed shot.

“The fuck is this?!” Yuri roared, stomping his foot on the ground in anger. “Why the fuck am I missing?!”

Viktor sighed heavily, his breath freezing in the cold air. “You are not holding your arms still enough,” he said.

“I am!” Yuri shouted, glaring at him. “I do it just like you!”

“No, you are not,” Viktor said, grabbing his brother’s arms and pulling them into the right position. “Feet apart. Get a feeling for the ground beneath them. Shoulders back. Head high. Clear your mind.”

“I’m doing all of this!” Yuri barked at him.

“Obviously not, because you are so full of anger, you ball of wrath,” Yakov growled from where he stood a little aside, watching the brothers train. “Listen to Viktor. Clear your head. Only then you will be able to focus, and your arrow will find its target.”

“Just try it, Yura,” Viktor said encouragingly, still holding his arms. “I know you can do it.”

Yuri muttered something under his breath and but did as he was told, following the advice of his brother. Feet apart, shoulders back, head high, and finally, clearing his mind. Slowly, he pulled the string back, taking deep, even breaths.

“Very good,” Viktor whispered, slowly letting go of his brother’s arms. For a moment, he just watched his brother, admiring how far the boy had come over the last few months. He was still small for a fifteen-year-old, but he was determined, and had an incredibly strong will. Some called it stubbornness, but Viktor was sure that one day, this determination would take Yuri far in life. In what way, however, Viktor would have loved to know.

But that was up to the gods.

“Not yet, Yura,” Viktor said quietly, close to his ear. “Eyes on your target. Feel the strength of our ancestors in your veins. Feel the wolf in you.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Yuri hissed and let go of the string.

The arrow shot through the air, hitting not the centre of the post but pierced through the wood nonetheless for the very first time.

“YES!” Yuri screamed, raising his fist in the air. “I DID IT!”

“You did it!” Viktor laughed and patted his brother’s shoulder. “Go and tell father!”

Yuri did not need to be told twice. He held his bow high in the air like a trophy as he ran down the hill to the elders’ circle, where he would find his father, shouting all the way about his success.

Yakov crossed his arms as he came to stand beside Viktor, watching the young boy run through the village. “He could be great one day, you know”, he said. “Perhaps even take your title.”

“I’d be disappointed if he didn’t speculate on that,” Viktor replied with a small smile. “He has a gift. All this anger inside him must be good for something.”

“Soon, he will compete in your stead,” Yakov remarked. “You have proven yourself to be worthy. Now it will be his turn.”

Yakov’s words were a reminder of what Viktor’s future was holding now. From now on, he would no longer be part of competitions, for those were reserved for the young, and unmarried, meant to attract a potential mate. For him, a mate had been chosen, and that meant that he had different things to focus on now.

“You knew that this day would come, Vitya,” Yakov said, his voice surprisingly gentle for a man that growled most of the time. “It was foretold.”

“I know,” Viktor murmured, picking up his own bow. No one knew that better than him. Yakov’s wife Lilia was the priestess of their clan – a strong woman, feared, even. She read the will of the gods like no other, prophesying what had been and what would come, drawing her knowledge from the goddess of the moon, just like their clan had done since the day of the wolves.

She had prophesied that one day, the wolves and the lynxes would become one, and Viktor knew what part he was supposed to play.

And not only that. The lynx would be a blessed one, she had foretold, kissed by the gods upon his birth. For a long time, neither Lilia nor the elders had known what this meant, for the ways of the gods were mysterious, and their messages always clear. But then, they had learnt of the sacred one, and his father had taken the matter into his own hands.

It all seemed to make sense now. His betrothed was one of the lynxes, and he was sacred.

And the weight of the great expectations the gods and their clans had on them lay heavily on Viktor’s shoulders.

“You should consider yourself lucky, Vitya,” Yakov said, crossing his arms as he watched Viktor pick up the arrows that his brother had shot across the field. “You might as well have remained a lone wolf. With no protection against those who wish to harm you.”

“I know that I am lucky,” Viktor replied, briefly glancing at his uncle. He knew that for a man like him, who preferred the company of men over women, there was little to choose from. His parents could have easily chosen a woman for him to marry, and oh, he knew that they had tried. Behind his mother’s gentle encouragements to dance with the girls at festivities there had been the clear hope that he would learn to like one of them. His father had known all along that his eldest son was, as he called it, stubborn, and did not force him to deny his nature – for it had been against the gods anyway, to try to change who he was.

But Viktor was not the son of anyone, but of the man that had united all northern clans. One day, he would take his place as their leader, and he would have to secure his position with strong allies, and with heirs.

The allies would be the lynxes. And the heirs would be the children he would have with his mate.

With Yuuri, the sacred one.

It was a case of sheer luck, Viktor thought, an unbelievable coincidence that there was someone like him. In Lilia’s eyes, it was no coincidence at all, but the will of the gods. It was destiny, she told Viktor when he came to her for advice, that he would have a sacred one as his mate. That this was what had been foretold, and that he had no other choice but to submit to the will of the gods.

He could have it worse, truly. For Yuuri was lovely, and radiated a warmth that could light up the night.

“How is the house coming along, then?” Yakov asked. “You’ve had enough help?”

Viktor nodded, glancing down the hill to the village where, at the outskirts and closer to the sea, a house was currently under construction. It was where he would live with his mate, in a home built with his own hands, to prove himself worthy. Only a man that could protect and provide for his mate could truly call himself a man, and take his place in society. For Viktor, this was of even greater importance, for he was the son of the great Nikita.

He simply could not afford to disappoint his clan, let alone his mate.

“I will finish it in time,” Viktor said with determination. “It will be worthy of him.”

“I expect nothing less,” someone behind him said.

Nikita had walked up the hill together with Yuri, keeping his hand firmly on his young son’s shoulder. Despite being older now, and bearing several scars, his father was still an impressive figure, Viktor thought. People did not necessarily fear him in their clan, but they respected him, and no one would ever dare to speak out against him.

It was the kind of respect that Viktor had yet to earn if he wanted to take his father’s place one day.

“Go with your uncle, Yura,” Nikita said, giving Yuri a gentle push. “Practise some more. I have to speak with your brother.”

“Come,” Yakov said and patted Yuri’s shoulder, taking him with him to the other side of the training field. He had come such a long way, Viktor thought as he watched his little brother pick up his bow again and take aim, from a boy that could barely stand on his own feet to a fierce young warrior.

“Viktor,” Nikita said, pulling him out of his thoughts. “The elders are gathering. You will join us this time.”

Viktor blinked. “Join you?” He repeated, glancing down the hill at the elders’ circle, a round building in the centre of the village.

Nikita nodded. “You have been promised a mate now,” he said. “That means that you have left the days of your youth behind. You are becoming a man. It is time that you take your rightful place in the circle of elders, as my son, and as my heir.”

Viktor did not know what to say. For years, the people in their village as well as in the surrounding ones had speculated on when Viktor would be allowed to join the circle of elders, to learn from them what would one day be his duty, namely to protect his clan and lead the north.

But only now, Viktor’s life seemed to have moved forward. With a mate promised to him, and the will of the gods becoming fulfilled, he was finally able to take his rightful place.

Viktor fell to his knees, bowing his head. “Thank you for this honour, father,” he said. “I will not disappoint you.”

“I know,” Nikita said calmly. “Please stand.”

Viktor did as he was told, but as he came to face his father, he found that he felt like an entirely different person. To have this honour, to be allowed to join the circle of elders, was something he had been waiting for – for a very long time. It was not only bringing honour to himself, but to his whole family.

Nikita regarded Viktor with a long, thoughtful look. “You have become a man that I can be proud to call a son of mine,” he said. “And so is your mother.”

Viktor bowed his head respectfully. “Thank you.”

“Now come,” Nikita said, placing his hand on his son’s shoulder. “It’s time.”

* * *

The women of the village gathered in Minako’s hut at sunset.

It was a tradition as old as time, since the night the lynxes had been blessed by the god of the sun to become humans. In the divine space of a priestess’ home, they would celebrate the end of the childhood of the girl that was to be married. They would pray to the gods to guide the bride, to keep her in their protective embrace, and to bless her womb with healthy children.

But instead of a young girl, it was Yuuri who sat in their midst, and received the blessings of the gods through the hands of Minako.

The women were singing, the ancient songs that had been passed on from generation to generation filling the hut as they painted Yuuri’s hands and feet. The intricate patterns symbolised his connection to the spirit realm, marking him for the journey from boy to man. From now on, he would be bound to the light of the gods, until the moment he would be placed in the hands of his betrothed, and become one with him.

Minako then took Yuuri’s hand, gently wrapping a ribbon around his wrist. It would be part of the wedding ceremony, binding him to Viktor, making him his mate. For the rest of this life, this ribbon would be a holy part of his existence, the one thing to remind him where his place was in life, and to whom he belonged.

Yuuri knew he had to consider himself lucky to even receive this chance in life. To become the mate of someone, to find a place where he belonged. But on top of that, he had a destiny to fulfil, and that scared him more than anything else.

Minako sensed his nervousness, and gently placed her hand on his cheek.

“Do not be afraid,” she said softly, barely audible as the women were still singing. “The gods have given you a strong partner. The wolf will care for you, provide for you, and protect you. You shall not lack a thing.”

Yuuri nodded lightly, meeting his teacher’s gaze. “I am not afraid of that,” he whispered, but he knew that it was a lie. He was afraid of the future, afraid of what the gods had planned for him, and that none of it could be known until the gods chose to reveal it.

Minako carefully placed her hand on his belly. “You are sacred, Yuuri,” she said. “Never forget that. You carry the will of the gods inside you.”

“But what is their will?” Yuuri whispered, tears filling his eyes. “I don’t understand any of this, Minako. How can I know what they want for me, what I am supposed to do?” The fear threatened to overwhelm him, the uncertainty about his future eating him up from inside out, panic rising within him and messing with his head.

Minako smiled softly. “They will reveal it when the time comes. Until then, be a good mate to your husband. Make his house a home. Prove yourself worthy. Bear him children. And above all, trust in the gods. They will guide you.”

Yuuri nodded and lowered his gaze as Minako put her hands on top of his head, taking deep, even breaths. He could not allow his anxiety to take over. He knew what it was, that it was a gift from the gods, too, making him more sensitive to the world around him. But it was part of his strength, bringing life and ruin at the same. He had to rely on the gods, and trust them to keep the balance in his heart.

All this Minako was trying to give him.

“May the gods protect and defend you,” Minako sang, and the women raised their hands for prayer. “May the gods shield you from shame. May they hold you, may they grace you, may they keep you warm in their embrace. May you be like the ones that came before you, may their spirits guide you on their way. May you be deserving of our praise, to be sung about when all of us are gone, to carry on your name from this life into the next. May the gods make you their messenger, and fill your womb with new life. As it always has been and ever shall be, with our sisterhood to guide you, and the gods to bless you.”

Yuuri knew his mother was crying, feeling the wetness of her cheeks as she hugged him. He sniffed, burying his face in her chest one last time, allowing himself this final moment of childishness. Only for tonight, he would be the boy that sought refuge in his mother’s embrace, who wanted to hide away from the rest of the world that scared him so.

For tomorrow, his childhood would end, and they would travel north.

And for Yuuri, that meant facing an uncertain future, to become the mate of a man he barely knew.

As it was foretold.

* * *

They left in the early hours of dawn, a small delegation only. But to Yuuri, it almost resembled a procession, similar to the ones when bringing a sacrifice to the gods. This, however, was a different kind of sacrifice. A family was giving their child away, not to the gods, but to marriage. It was a joyous occasion – and yet, Yuuri could not shake off the sadness he felt. The southern clan was his home. The sea, the forest, the hills – all of it had shaped him, had made him who he was today. All of it he had to give up and ride into the eternal night, and into a world of ice.

It was a comfort, however, that his family was coming with him, and that he did not have to face his future on his own. Mari was riding beside him, sitting tall and proud on her horse as they left their village behind. Yuuri could not help but admire her. The way she held herself showed how confident she was, how sure of herself she was, and Yuuri could not help but secretly envy her. Perhaps if he had been a little more like her, he would have felt better about himself.

After all, the only thing that made him a good match for anyone to actually consider was that he was a clan leader’s son. And, in this special case, that they considered him a sacred one and didn’t mind.

Why they did not mind, however, was still a mystery to him.

Neither his mother nor father had an answer. His father mused that Nikita was on the one hand impressed by his archery skills, but that he also considered Yuuri the best possible match for his son. After all, Viktor was, as his mother had put it, not fond of women, and finding a match for him must have posed an incredibly difficult task to his parents. To find a man for their son, and a sacred one on top of that, must have been viewed by them as a gift of the gods themselves.

His mother had a similar, yet more romantic explanation. She was sure that the moment Nikita had seen Yuuri, he had known that he would be perfect for his son. That they would become each other’s true half, and make each other happy as true mates.

Minako had replied that most likely, it was foretold.

Yuuri had learnt enough from Minako to know that the gods worked their magic in the most mysterious ways, that one could never truly know what their plans were – regardless of one’s station. Not even Minako, who was their direct messenger, could possibly know all of their ways of communicating with mortals. Many things had been foretold in the past, and more would be foretold in the future. So perhaps there was indeed a prophecy somewhere out there that could explain all of this.

But perhaps, Yuuri thought as they left his home behind, it was mere politics of marriage. As it always had been and would ever be.

The ride to the northern settlements was long, and took several days. During the day, they sang songs, and listened to the stories Minako told them of the gods. His father would tell them the stories they had loved during their childhood days, of wars and battles and heroes. In the evenings, they would set up a tent and make a fire, and eat the food they had brought along before going to sleep. And in the mornings, they would pack up and continue their journey, telling stories and singing songs, as the eternal night came closer and closer.

The sun and the moon were visible again at the same time. As Minako pointed it out to them, she told them that it was a good sign. After all, the lynxes had been blessed by the sun, and the wolves by the moon, and both of them appearing together could only mean that the gods approved of this match – that something, although they did not yet know what – was falling into place.

That their union was something the gods desired, and had to be consummated before they lost their favour.

Yuuri looked down at the patterns that had been painted onto his hands. They showed his connection to the gods, marked him for the journey so that they would not lose sight of him. He was the bride on the way to the groom, and therefore in their protective embrace. But riding at his sister’s side through the northern lands, he felt lost and alone, the sparse landscape doing little to lift his mood. It would change over time, he had been told, as the winters in the north were long and the snow only ever melted very slowly, but looking at the snow-covered hills and silent forests, Yuuri felt as if he would never be able to breathe freely again.

The first settlements they came across were small, but Yuuri realised quickly that the houses were built differently here – not just made of wood, but with stones, too, to keep the cold out and the warmth in. The people greeted them in the same strange, harsh language that Nikita and his people spoke, but they were friendly, offering them food and shelter. They seemed to know who they were, for they spoke to each other in hushed voices upon seeing Yuuri. But unlike the people in the south, their behaviour was not to be explained with rejection of his nature, but with its celebration.

What was it that Yelena had said? In the north, the people never questioned the will of the gods, but embraced it. And following this belief, they seemed to embrace Yuuri the way he was.

Yuuri could only hope that the village of his betrothed would treat him just the same.

And then, after endless days of travelling through white landscapes and sleeping in tents in the endless night, they reached the ocean – and at its shore, a settlement.

The village of the Nikiforov clan, and where Yuuri’s new life would begin.

Just as it had been foretold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Also, I don't know how long this fic is going to be, but I have some great ideas for my babies.
> 
> Including babies.
> 
> (Kudos to those who found the Fiddler on the Roof reference in the chapter!)


	3. Sunrise, Sunset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is little I enjoy these days, but I love writing this fic. It's a dream come true to write this project, finally, after it has been in my folder for so long - albeit for a different fandom. But for YOI it works. I still can't believe it.
> 
> I have shamelessly copied the celtic wedding vows for this one, and played a little with them. English is not my first language, so it is difficult for me to come up with these things and making them sound appropriate for the occasion.
> 
> And, of course, there's some Fiddler on the Roof in this one.
> 
> Also, virginity is a social construct and never to be taken seriously. Therefore: virginity does not matter in this fic. 
> 
> !! Warning: Smut in this chapter, starting when they begin to undress (obviously). !!

In the north, a wedding lasted from sunrise to sunset.

It was early, just before the break of dawn as they woke Yuuri. The women of the village had come, and their priestess, too. She was a frightening woman at first sight, Yuuri found, tall, skinny, and even sharper facial features than Nikita’s. Perhaps it was something common in the north, he thought, to have a face like that, shaped by wind and ice. But behind her cold demeanour, he could feel an almost motherly warmth inhabiting her, even if she didn’t let it show.

The priestess, Lilia, as that was her name, did not speak his language, and neither did the other women, but it was not necessary, for they understood each other without words. Never before had Yuuri been so nervous in his life. The priestess seemed to feel it, for she placed her hands on his temples, murmuring a soft prayer, and her power ran from Yuuri’s head into his veins, soothing his heart at least a little. He had looked at her in amazement afterwards, but found no reaction to it in Lilia’s eyes. It must have been easy for her, then, to perform such a thing, and that had to mean that this priestess was indeed very powerful.

The hut they had slept in was meant for guests only, but it had everything they could have possibly needed. A wooden tub had been prepared for him, filled with steaming water in which they bathed him. Across the village, Yuuri knew, they were doing the same to Viktor. But unlike him, his betrothed would bathe in water as cold as ice, to harden his body and strengthen his soul, for from now on, Yuuri would be his warmth. That was how it always had been, and would always be.

Yuuri, of course, knew little of the traditions of the north. It was only thanks to Yelena, who was amongst the women, that he understood what was happening. Her voice was gentle and soothing, explaining each step, so Yuuri knew why they were doing this, why they were doing that. That everything had a reason, a time, and a place. The bath washed away the last ties to his home, and with them, the patterns they had painted on him. No longer were they needed, for he had arrived safely at his destination, at the home of his betrothed. Instead, they were replaced with new ones, the women painting his hands and palms in deep red, the patterns resembling the flakes of the snow.

When they were done, they dried his body with the softest cloths, pulling a shift over him to protect his modesty. Yuuri’s cheeks were red nonetheless, not just from the heat of the water, but because of the fact that he had been naked in front of strangers, all of them seeing everything of him. He knew he looked different – being a sacred one meant to possess the features of both man and woman, to bleed from just the same place where women bled, to bear children just like them, having both the anatomy of men and women, even if it was not easily visible. Yuuri’s body had begun with the change right before his first blood, and he had refused to look at himself ever since.

Minako had told him not to reject himself, but to embrace the god’s blessing, for they had given him both. But as child that was already confused about the world around him, Yuuri had merely tried to stay sane.

He was no longer a child now, but a young man. And yet, he still felt disconnected from his own body at times. Over time, he had gotten used to it, to the bleeding, to the pain, to the ache in his belly that he felt when the moon was gone. The heritage of the lynxes and of the god of the sun, Minako had said. All women could feel it, and so could he.

Yuuri wondered if the sun in the north was the same as it was at home.

Perhaps he would never feel the ache again. An ache, Minako had said, that could only be satisfied through the union with one’s mate. Men felt it too, she had said, but differently, and they were often not even able to distinguish it from general lust. But Yuuri knew the difference clearly. The ache in his belly was not painful, but it was a deep longing, something he had never been able to satisfy.

He could not feel it now, but he worried what it would do to him, and do to Viktor, once it returned.

The sun had risen by the time they had bathed and dressed him in the shift. Then, they brought in two wooden blocks on which Yuuri had to stand. He did not understand why until the priestess knelt before him and reached under his shift. Instinctively, Yuuri stumbled back, falling into his mother’s arms and staring at the priestess in shock. Never before had someone dared to touch him like this, not even Minako. And whilst Lilia seemed not surprised at his reaction, she merely threw an expectant glance at him, and left the talking to Yelena.

“She want to see that you are pure,” the clan leader’s wife said calmly. “You are not first sacred one for her, you see.”

Yuuri knew of the practice, knew that Minako performed it on every girl and boy in their village that was to be married, cleansing those that were not pure for the upcoming ceremony. It was not about virginity, Yuuri knew that, it never really had been. But for something as holy as a wedding, for becoming one with one’s mate, being pure from worldly pleasures was a requirement. 

Yuuri had never been with anyone, unlike many others, so he knew that there was nothing to worry about. But of course, the other priestess could not know that.

“Yuuri,” Hiroko whispered, gently pushing him forward. “It won’t take long.”

The women were looking at him, all of them waiting for him to make his move, to let the rites that were holy to them continue. It was not up to him, he realised, to decide what was going to happen. It was not about him, anyway. Everything they did in their lives had to be according to the will of the gods.

Yuuri swallowed his pride and stepped onto the wooden blocks again. This time, Lilia moved slower, her hands disappearing under Yuuri’s shift, one of them examining him, the other one resting on his belly. Yuuri instinctively held his breath, barely feeling his mother’s soothing hand on the small of his back.

Lilia closed her eyes and took a few deep, even breaths, listening to the inaudible song of Yuuri’s body.

Finally, she withdrew her hands from him, and gave a firm nod.

Yelena smiled, clasping her hands and exchanging a look with Hiroko, who was beaming with pride. Yuuri knew he had done well, without doing anything at all. No worldly pleasures would inhabit his body for now, keeping him pure, and his soul without weight, until he would become one with Viktor.

And then, after what seemed like hours, they gave him something to eat.

* * *

A silent cry was all that came from Viktor that morning as they bathed him in the frozen river.

It was not that he had never done this. It was something he had often done as a teenager, jumping into the ice-cold water with his friends to see who could stay in it the longest. Oh, many times it had become dangerous, many of his friends almost losing a toe or leg to the cold, but to Viktor, the ice had never been an enemy. It was part of him, a friend, almost, the proof that without coldness, there could not be warmth.

And yet, being dunked into the frozen river at sunrise did little to soothe his nerves. He did not scream, did not fight as they pulled him out of the water and threw his naked body into the snow. A man that tried to prove himself worthy of a mate endured this without making a sound, fought against the cold like the wolves they had come from, and fought its way to the saving fire, where warm clothes and hot wine were waiting for him.

It was all worth the pain, they had told him.

His mate was worth it all.

Viktor clenched his teeth as he waded through the snow, naked and without protection, with only the married men to watch his struggle. With every step, he came closer to the fire, closer to the warmth, to the clothes. They were at arm’s length now, but Viktor did not reach out for them until they were right in front of him, pulling them over his freezing body with trembling hands, and emptying the cup of hot wine in one go. The heat streamed from his throat through his limbs into every corner of his body, causing his knees to give in for good. But that did not matter anymore, Viktor thought in relief as he fell to his knees and the hot wine spilled all over his face. He had proven himself worthy in front of his clan.

Their cheers of approval were proof enough.

It was his father who pulled him to his feet again, patting his back proudly and holding him close to help him walk.

“Well done, Viktor,” Nikita said. “I expected nothing less.”

“T-thank you, father,” Viktor managed to say, for most of his body was still numb from the cold, and he barely felt himself moving. If it had not been for the fact he could see himself walking, he would have thought that he was floating.

“You must be hungry now,” Nikita said, leading his son down the path and back to the village, heading straight for the family’s home. And indeed, Viktor’s stomach was growling at the prospect of food, for he had been fasting three days before his betrothed’s arrival.

He had seen him only briefly. Viktor had spotted him immediately – Yuuri had been a light in the dark, his eyes sparkling even in the night. But Viktor had not gone to him. He had not been allowed to.

And when sunset came, they would be married.

Inside their home it was warm and cosy, as it always had been. The maid had prepared soup for him, now waiting for him in a bowl that Viktor took with shaking hands and emptied in few gulps. The men chuckled, taking their seats around the fire as Nikita refilled the bowl for his son. Viktor drank the soup until nothing was left, and the warmth had settled deep inside him.

“You have proven yourself worthy of taking a mate,” Nikita said, the pride for his eldest son clear on his face. “The wolf inside you is strong. It will guide you, and help you to protect your mate from cold, hunger, and enemies. That is a holy duty that you must never forsake, my son. From now on, you will not only be responsible for yourself, but also for your mate, and for your children.”

The men surrounding them nodded solemnly. They all knew their duty, had received the same speech from their own fathers.

“When sunset comes, you will be married,” Nikita continued. “The gods will bless your union when the sun and the moon meet on their everlasting journey. And after nightfall, when there have been dances and songs, and when our stories have been told, it will be time for the taking.”

Viktor nodded lightly to show that he understood, but a shiver ran down his spine at the sheer weight that was now resting on his shoulders.

“You have worked hard to prepare a home, and a marital bed,” one of the elders said. “And there your mate shall lie, for three nights and three days, to be taken by you, and to fulfil the will of the gods. With their help, your mate will bring forth new life. But it is up to you that they may bless your union. Your seed must settle, and none of it must go to waste.”

The men nodded in agreement. It was of great importance that their clan continued to exist, and that their leader, as well as their future leader, set an example.

“Your mate is a sacred one,” Nikita said, touching Viktor’s shoulder. “The legends do not tell us much about them, so you must learn about him as you go. But he will be a loyal and obedient mate to you. Treat him well, and the gods will always be with you.”

Viktor nodded, bowing his head. There was more to his father’s words than just that, of course. It was of utter importance that they soon had a child, to prove that his claim to his father’s title would be justified. That he, just like his father, was strong and enough of a man to not only care for a mate and children, but for an entire clan.

“Your mate will feel lonely, and lost,” Nikita continued. “Therefore, it is of great importance that you bond. And only through a physical union, such a bond can be forged. That is the reason for a taking. To bind you and your mate together, and to fill your mate’s womb with new life. The gods expect you to do your duty tonight, and in the three days and nights that will follow. Care for your mate, and take your mate, until you truly have become one.”

“Yes, father,” Viktor murmured, swallowing thickly as something heavy was put around his neck. A holy relic, a necklace blessed by the goddess of the moon. It was more than just jewellery for a wedding. It was his connection to the goddess herself, his direct link to her, so she would be with him during the ceremony. And for the night that would follow.

Viktor accepted the necklace, touching it with his finger tips for a moment. Then, he turned and bowed to his father, his forehead touching the ground. “I thank you for your guidance and wisdom. You have guided me through my childhood, and taught me what it means to be a man. I am not worthy of the gift that you bestow upon me.”

Nikita placed his hands on top of Viktor’s head. “I release you of the burden of the son. Your childhood has ended, and you are becoming a man.”

He withdrew his hands and Viktor raised his head, looking his father in the eye. It was frightening, sometimes, how much alike they looked. The same face, the same hair, but not the same eyes. But other than that, Viktor thought with some bitterness in his heart, they had not much in common.

It had been Yakov who had raised him. Who had taught him how to fight, how to survive, how to be himself.

His father knew that, and Viktor was sure that he would never be able to forgive himself for that.

Viktor was determined to be different. He would not abandon his children for the search for titles and glory.

“Are you nervous?” Nikita asked, for the ceremonial part was over, and they could speak freely. “You don’t have to be. Your mate will be… ah, I don’t know if I should say beautiful, since he is a man, but…”

“You might as well say it, as it does not make a difference,” Yakov muttered.

Nikita chuckled. “I guess so. Your mate will shine just for you, Viktor. A jewel for your possession only.”

“One cannot possess another human being,” Viktor replied quietly, looking his father in the eye. As expected, his father winced at that, and that pleased Viktor greatly. No, he would not own his mate. Guide him, protect him, care for him, yes, but own him? No.

Viktor knew what it was like to be owned, and so did his mother. If a mate was to be owned, then what else was marriage, if not a different form of slavery?

“You know how I mean it,” Nikita replied stiffly. “Don’t read too much into things. It is your wedding day. You should be joyful.”

“I am,” Viktor said, ready to say more, but a single glare from his uncle from behind his father’s back was enough to make him shut up.

This was a fight for another day.

But today, it was his wedding day.

* * *

The people gathered under the elder tree just before sunset.

For generations, weddings had been held under this very tree, under a canopy made of the finest cloth. The canopy would shield the couple from prying eyes, the only ones to see them being the gods. The elder tree was holy, the very presence of the gods personified, for it never lost its leaves, and always remained green, regardless of the season. It was said that those who wept under its branches would be comforted, and that those who got married under them would find everlasting happiness.

The people stood around the canopy in a circle, the women at the front, in their hands little bowls with lit candles. They flickered in the cold evening air, illuminating the holy ground, forming a protective light for the wolf and the lynx in their midst.

It was hard to believe that these two young men where the boys that had not long been carried around by their fathers, that had played with their siblings, that had enjoyed the carefree days of childhood. No, their parents certainly could not remember growing older – when, then, had their sons become men?

When had Yuuri turned into a beauty, with fair skin, the most beautiful black hair, and large, brown eyes full of kindness?

When had Viktor, the shy, scared child freed from slavery, grown to be so tall and strong?

Had it not been just yesterday, their parents wondered, when they had been small?

And yet, here they stood, in the eyes of the gods and of their families. Their gowns had been made for this occasion only, of the finest leather and fur, beautiful and keeping them warm. They fit them well, adorned with jewellery gifted to them by their parents, heirlooms of their families that would give them the protection and wisdom of their ancestors. But nothing, no spell, no prayer, could have prepared them for the moment they looked each other in the eye, for both of them to realise that they were to be together.

Never had Yuuri thought to find himself in this situation – standing before the gods, his hands in the ones of another being, so that their hearts were to unite, to never part again. But here he was. Victor’s hands were warm despite the cold, and held his own with such gentleness that the knot in his stomach was suddenly not so tight anymore.

There had been no more words of wisdom that their parents could have possibly given them – no more advice to ease their way. From now on, they had to learn from one another, day by day, night by night. Even if they did not speak the same language, and came from different places. This was what the gods had planned for them, and they would submit to their will.

Viktor’s cheeks were rosy, not just from the cold, but from standing before the man he had thought about so many times since they had last seen each other. The gods, so he had always thought, had not planned for him to ever find a mate. To ever have children. But then, they had chosen Yuuri for him. Lovely, beautiful, gentle Yuuri.

It was more than he could have possibly ever prayed for.

Later, the people would say that they had looked so natural together, just like two newlyweds should be, under the canopy, surrounded by light. The priestesses sang the holy songs, performing the rites of their ancestors, joining two souls for life, and binding them together even into the next. Nothing would ever separate them again, with the prophecy now becoming fulfilled.

Minako took the ribbon from Yuuri’s wrist and wrapped the other end around Viktor’s, leaving barely enough space between them to move. From now on, their lives would revolve around the other. Where the one went, the other would follow. When one fell, so would the other. Would one of them rise, the other would rise with them.

Yuuri followed the ribbon with his eyes to Viktor’s wrist, then looked up at the other man’s face. His eyes were so incredibly blue, and so incredibly beautiful, that Yuuri knew that if he looked at them for much longer, he would drown in them. But there was no longer a reason to avert his gaze, was there? The canopy shielded them from the rest of the world, creating a universe only for him and Viktor. Where what had been foretold would come true.

“God of the sun and goddess of the moon, may your light shine upon them tonight and forevermore! May the wolf and the lynx roam your lands together, and may your will be fulfilled through them! Bless them on their way, and bestow upon them everlasting happiness.”

Yuuri could not take his eyes off the other man, and neither could Viktor, spellbound by the moment and by the promise they were giving to each other. They barely felt the hands of the priestesses on them, the hands of the women on their shoulders and pressing them down into the snow to kneel before one another to give their promises.

Viktor’s voice was calm and soothing, the sound of Russian elegantly rolling off his tongue as he spoke. A promise as old as time, as old as the wolves.

“I vow to you the first cut of my meat, the first sip of my wine. From this day on it shall be only your name I cry out in the night and into your eyes that I smile each morning,” Viktor said quietly, only loud enough for the priestesses and Yuuri to hear, and bowed his head. “I shall be a shield for your back as you are for mine, no shall a grievous word be spoken about us, for our marriage is sacred between us and no stranger shall hear my grievance. Above and beyond this, I will cherish and honour you through this life and into the next."

Yuuri stared at him, his eyes wide in awe, for despite he did not understand the vows that Viktor had spoken, he had felt the sentiment behind them, and that Viktor genuinely meant them.

And so, the words came out of his mouth, the vows of his ancestors, his promise to Viktor.

“By the gods that guide us, mayst thou love me. As the sun follows its course, may I follow thee. As light to the eye, as bread to the hungry, as joy to the heart,” Yuuri breathed, swallowing thickly as he bowed his head to Viktor. “M-May thy presence be with me, oh one that I love, until death comes to part us asunder.”

They were pulled to their feet again, the hands of the priestesses resting on the ribbon binding them together. It felt so natural, Yuuri and Viktor thought, to reach for the other man’s hand in this moment, to hold onto the other, to feel the warmth of the other person. Their fingers intertwined, and the priestesses began to sing once more, calling to the gods.

“Now you are bound one to the other with a tie not easy to break. Take this time of binding to learn what you need to know - to grow in wisdom and love, that your marriage will be strong, and that your love will last in this life and beyond. The gods have blessed you with one another, and so it shall be forevermore!”

And so, the sun disappeared behind the horizon, the final rays of sunshine illuminating this holy place. The wolf and the lynx, bound together for life, had become one.

They looked at each other, their breaths mingling in the cold winter air, unable to avert their gaze.

“DAVAI!”

Suddenly, the canopy was lifted, and the spell broken, reality washing over them again and revealing them to the eyes of their families. And there they stood, Yuuri and Viktor, holding the hand of the other one, eyes wide in shock and admiration as they were celebrated. Yuuri wanted to say something, anything, really, but he could not, for Viktor would not understand him anyway, and they were being moved, away from the elder tree, away from the canopy, and taken into the midst of the celebrating crowd.

Their hands never let go.

* * *

Never before had Yuuri heard music like this – loud, cheerful, and jovial, played on instruments unknown in the south. They had strings, Yuuri noticed, that the musicians plucked with their fingers. They had drums, too, playing the basis of whatever song they were performing, and they sang loud, and proudly, of things that Yuuri could only get a vague idea of. What he knew was that they were singing for him, and Viktor, to celebrate their union.

Yuuri would have loved to ask him what the songs meant, and why the people were laughing and clapping at certain passages. But even if he had spoken just a bit of Russian, he was sure that he would not have been able to understand the other man’s answer. His father had taught him a few words, how to say thank you, and how to greet another person, but that was hardly helpful in such a moment, when all he wanted was to communicate in any way with the man that was his husband.

Husband.

Yuuri had not yet dared to say it out loud, as if afraid of testing the will of the gods with it, but the reality had finally sunken in, and made him aware of what his life now was. Viktor was now not just anyone. He was his husband now, and he was Viktor’s mate, for the rest of their lives and into the next. Their souls were now bound together, symbolised by the ribbon around their wrists.

Yuuri looked down at their joined hands between them, his treacherous heart skipping a joyful beat at the sight. Only once had they let go of each other’s hands so far, when they had exchanged their first cup of wine, and Viktor had instinctively tried to grab it with his right hand – yanking Yuuri’s hand up with him, much to the amusement of their families. Viktor had immediately apologised and taken his hand again before reaching for the wine with his left hand instead. Since then, they had not let go of each other again, and oh – it felt so very, very good.

Viktor’s hand was larger than his – pale, with long, slender fingers, but strong and, above everything else, so very warm and gentle. It was the first time that Yuuri was holding hands with someone that was not his mother or his sister, and each time he thought of it, it made his heart flutter in his chest.

Viktor had given him the first sip of the wine, the first cut of the meat, the first slice of the bread. He had given him the seat closest to the fire, the furthest away from the door and the cold, shielding him from any cool breeze with his own body.

Perhaps all of this were customs of the Nikiforov clan, Yuuri thought. Perhaps they came from Viktor only. But in the end, it did not matter. For the gods had, as it seemed, given him a kind husband, and Yuuri was immensely grateful for it.

They had given them the best seats in the house – the elders circle, as he was told by his mother-in-law, who sat to his right. It was where the elders of all villages gathered for council, to decide about the affairs of the north in democratic debate. Viktor had only recently become part of the circle, Yelena had then told him proudly, for he was now a man with a mate. That alone had made Yuuri blush deeply, and even more so when Yelena told her son what she had said to Yuuri. Viktor had bowed his head in slight embarrassment at his mother’s praise, and Yuuri saw that despite language and cultural barriers, some things were the same at any place.

It seemed to be a tradition that Yuuri was not to sit beside his own family, but beside Viktor’s. Yelena was pleasant company, for she tried her best to speak to Yuuri in his own language, even if she was not so good at it. Beside her sat her husband, as well as Viktor’s younger brother – who made a face as if he had been dragged along to a funeral – and a man that had been introduced to Yuuri as Viktor’s uncle and Nikita’s brother, Yakov. He looked very serious, and Mari had commented on him merely calling him “the angriest man I have ever seen”, but the way he looked at Viktor spoke of a deep bond between them, and Yuuri suspected that Yakov was a father figure to the other man.

Yuuri’s own family sat beside Viktor, and his father tried his best, just like Yelena, to have a conversation with his respective neighbour. It was fascinating to listen to his father speak Russian, searching for words and finding them with Viktor’s help. Viktor’s speech was so very different from his father’s, smooth and elegant, the sound of Russian rolling off his tongue effortlessly. When Nikita spoke, Yuuri found, it sounded more aggressive. But when Viktor spoke, it sounded almost like music.

It was a shame, really, that they were unable to speak to each other.

When the food had been eaten and the songs had been played, the people moved closer around the fire for the tale of their priestess. In the light of the fire, she looked even more impressive than usually, Yuuri found, the flickering light caressing the sharp features of her face, her green eyes sparkling in the light of the flames. With Minako’s help, she added herbs to the fire, and a heavy, sweet scent filled the room. And then, she began to speak, softly and composed.

“In the beginning,” Nikita translated calmly for the foreign guests, “there were the wolves. Roaming the eternal night, living from what the goddess of the moon gave them. It was enough, more than that, even. But with every full moon, they would howl at it, expressing a longing they did not understand.”

Yuuri dared to look briefly at Viktor, who was watching the priestess attentively.

“The goddess was kind,” Nikita said as Lilia continued. “And she gave the leader of the pack a new form. He woke the next day, naked, with two arms, and two legs, and feet. He could no longer howl, but he could sing. His fur lay beside him, and he wrapped himself into it. Like this, he began to roam the lands. The pack always with him. They still recognised him as their leader.

For some time, the first man lacked not a thing. But he felt lonely. He could no longer speak with his pack, for the wolves could only howl, and he could only sing. It was after another full moon that he woke up, and found his mate at his side. She had been turned into a human, too, and she had longed for him, just as he had longed for her. Together, they roamed the lands, and brought forth strong sons and daughters.”

The men and women of the clan nodded, and Yuuri realised that this was a story they all knew already. Viktor was nodding as well, keeping his gaze firmly on the priestess.

“The goddess of the moon had been kind,” Nikita kept translating, “but the god of the sun had been kind, too, and had turned the lynxes into humans. And so the other gods followed their example. The bears, the hawks, all of them received their chance. And they were all feeling the desire for a mate, for someone to complete them. Being human came with a price, and that price was being incomplete.”

Lilia then turned around to Viktor and Yuuri, fixating them with her stare.

“Tonight, the son of the wolves has found a mate. It was foretold that the wolves and the lynxes would become one, and that the lynx would be kissed by the gods upon birth. Tonight, this prophecy has been fulfilled.”

A soft hum filled the hut, and Yuuri looked down at their joined hands. Viktor had given his hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

“A good man,” Nikita translated further as Lilia walked around the room again, “can only call himself a man if he is able to care and provide for his mate. It is why he offers his mate a home, for protection, and comfort. He makes sure that his mate never goes hungry, and never feels cold. Only in the care for a mate, a man shows true greatness.”

The men in the hut nodded solemnly, and Viktor bowed his head in reverence.

“In return, his mate makes his house a home. A good mate gives body and soul to the one they have been given to. It is the will of the gods that they bring forth new life. And the mate shall do so – not only to honour the gods, but also to honour the name of their husband, so that it may live on, and be never forgotten.

The wolf and the lynx have become one in the eyes of mortals and in the eyes of the gods.”

Lilia looked at them, her green eyes now full of fondness. “And they will become one to each other, and consummate their union, tonight.”

Suddenly, Yuuri felt very warm, unable to look the priestess in the eye anymore. He was not the only one, he realised, for Viktor had averted his gaze as well. But their hands remained joined, unable, or unwilling, to let go of the other.

“From now on, they must go their own way,” Yelena said softly, touching Yuuri’s arm. “And we let them go, into the night, and into the comfort of their home.”

Yuuri barely felt himself moving, only realising that he was standing when he was pulled up with Viktor, and found himself in the embrace of his own mother.

“My darling,” she whispered, kissing his forehead gently. “May the gods bless you.”

Yuuri found himself unable to answer, only able to give a small nod, watching as Viktor was being hugged by his own mother, and Yelena whispering something to her son to which Viktor also only replied with a nod. Whatever it was that Yelena had said, it had sounded like a blessing to Yuuri’s ears, like best wishes for what would now follow.

Their families were at their sides as they were taken to the door and stepped out onto the path. Torches marked the way from the elders’ circle to a house in the distance, the home that Viktor had built with his own hands over the course of the year.

In the south, the groom would carry his bride home. With the ribbon around their wrists, however, such practice would be impossible. Instead, Viktor took Yuuri into a protective embrace, shielding him from the icy wind as they made their way home.

Viktor’s arms were warm, Yuuri thought as they walked, the only sounds coming from the snow beneath their feet. The torches illuminated their way, the distance from the centre of the village to the house not too far, but still a considerable length. Yuuri wondered if Viktor had built the house on the outskirts of the village on purpose, close to where the river became part of the ocean. At home, they would have never built a house at such a place, unprotected from the weather, but Viktor surely had his reasons. Yuuri had seen during the day that in the north, houses were built differently, many of them not only made of wood but of stone as well, with heavy roofs that no wind could simply carry away, and that inside these houses, it was always so wonderfully warm.

Just like Viktor’s embrace.

They reached the end of the path, and the door of the house. Viktor only let go of him partly, barely enough to push the door open with one hand, and taking Yuuri inside with the other. With their fingers intertwined the way they had been the whole evening since the moment they had become one, they entered their home, and Yuuri stepped into his new life.

It was surprisingly spacious, bigger than it had seemed from the outside. Just like the house he had been sleeping in with his family the night before, it had wooden floors, parts of it covered in thin furs to keep their feet warm. A fireplace had been built into the centre, with a warming fire already in it, as if someone in the house had just been waiting for their arrival. Cupboards lined one side of the house, containing everything they would need, from pots and pans over various utensils to spare furs for guests to sit on. On the other wall hung a considerable collection of weapons, including the bow Viktor had shot with at the competition, but also several spears and, as Yuuri realised, swords made of the finest metal. In the south, swords were rare, and he had seen one only once before.

His husband, he realised, had three of them.

Yuuri’s eyes wandered from the swords to the back of the house. A ladder led up to the hayloft, a sleeping place for older children, traditionally. And there, behind the ladder hidden in an alcove, protected by a wall and only accessible through a curtain, lay their marriage bed.

Yuuri knew that in the north, they called it a nest, the most sacred of places for a mate. It was not only a place to sleep, but where children would be fathered, born, and nursed. Where a mate could rest and withdraw from the world to regain their strength. Where a mate could feel safe, with only their husband and children around, the rest of the world completely shut out.

And it was where the taking would take place. Where Yuuri would lie, for three nights and three days, to bond with his husband through their physical union.

He felt Viktor’s hand on his arm, pulling him out of his thoughts. Yuuri looked up, eyes wide at the sight of a knife in Viktor’s free hand. But before he could even open his mouth, Viktor had begun to work on the tight knot of the ribbon around Yuuri’s wrist, carefully loosening it with the tip of the knife until it became undone on its own and released Yuuri’s hand.

Yuuri blinked in confusion as Viktor held the knife out to him, and it took him a moment that he was expected to do the same for Viktor in return. The knot on Viktor’s wrist, however, did not seem as tight, and Yuuri managed to undo it without the help of the knife, the ribbon gently falling into his hands.

For a long moment, he just looked at it, the proof of their marriage. They would cherish it for the rest of their lives, and be buried with it when they died. Until then, they would have to keep it safe, and never lose it, for it symbolised their bond, and their connection to the gods.

Viktor’s hands cupped his own, his thumb brushing over Yuuri’s palm before taking the ribbon from him. Yuuri watched him fold it carefully and put it into a small, wooden box on a shelf. It was a pretty box, ornamented with beautiful carvings, and most likely a wedding gift. From whom, Yuuri did not know.

And then, Viktor returned to his side, and his hand came to touch Yuuri’s face.

For the first time, they were alone, without their families to watch them. And Yuuri, who had never thought to find himself in such a situation, to ever get married and be the mate of another person, felt incredibly lost.

But he was not alone, was he?

Viktor’s hands gently caressed his cheek, his finger tracing the line of his cheekbone. He looked even more beautiful now, Yuuri thought, without so many people around them, with only the light of the fire illuminating his face. Like this, he looked nothing like his father. There was a softness about Viktor where one would find hardness in his father, a tenderness that was without equal.

Viktor, Yuuri realised without ever having truly exchanged a word with him, was kind.

And he belonged to him.

“Yuuri,” Viktor said softly, the sound of it shaking Yuuri to the core. He pronounced it differently, a great emphasis on the vowels, as if to clearly differentiate between his husband, and his brother. “Yuuri.”

Yuuri met his gaze, overwhelmed by the warmth and kindness he found in his eyes. Could it really be true that this man was just for him, that he did not have to share him with anyone else in the world? That the gods had selected him for him, and for him only, and had made sure they would find each other with their prophecy?

That a man so beautiful could find someone like him worthy?

Viktor’s other hand came to touch Yuuri’s arm, his finger tips brushing the bare skin of his wrist where their ribbon had been, lingering there, questioning, and full of patience.

Only then Yuuri realised that Viktor was waiting for him, and that all he had done so far was to stare at the other. Yuuri swallowed thickly, the nervousness about what was going to happen between them threatening to take over, but then, Viktor kissed him.

Soft, gentle lips, pressed against his own. Questioning, waiting.

Yuuri had frozen in shock.

Only that it was not shock. And neither had his anxiety taken over and crippled him. No, it was surprise that had taken hold of him and made him unable to move whilst his mind was racing, trying to comprehend what was happening.

And Yuuri liked. He liked it oh, so very much.

But Viktor turned away, his cheeks reddened in embarrassment as he looked at Yuuri, as if afraid that he had been doing something wrong, when all Yuuri wanted was for him to kiss him again, that now, he had understood the situation and he was ready, but could not do so, because their languages kept them apart.

And so, Yuuri leant forward and kissed him in return. And this time, Viktor was able to respond.

They kissed slow and unhurried, holding each other’s hands, their fingers intertwining out of sheer instinct and pulling the other one closer until their bodies touched. Viktor’s hand came up to touch Yuuri’s cheek, slightly correcting the angle of their kiss for he was the taller one of the two, their lips parting as the kiss went on, and a sweet, warm desire pooled in Yuuri’s lower regions. Right there, where his soul resided.

Only when they had to breathe, they finally pulled away. But they stayed connected, their breaths mingling, the sudden heat of their kiss having taken them both by surprise and exhausting them more than they had thought was possible. But it felt good, so wonderfully good, even, and Yuuri wanted more of it.

He wanted all of it.

Viktor pulled away ever so lightly, his gaze flickering to the alcove behind Yuuri’s back, and then back to him, an unspoken question between them.

Yuuri understood him nonetheless.

He took a deep breath and gave a brief nod, and with it, Viktor the permission to fulfil what had been foretold.

Viktor smiled, and kissed him again – gently, carefully, his hands cupping Yuuri’s cheeks as if he were made of glass. When he pulled away this time, Yuuri could see the blush on his face, a good one now. And his eyes, his breathtakingly beautiful eyes, were sparkling, full of adoration for the man in front of him.

Yuuri’s garments came off easily, the fur that he had worn around his neck now forgotten on the ground, with Viktor’s to follow. Yuuri’s hands were slightly shaking as he pulled on the strings, but Viktor was patient, his hand caressing Yuuri’s waist and letting him work until it finally came off. Viktor then reached for his own trousers, taking off his shoes first before pulling them down, and shoving them aside. Just like Yuuri, he wore a thin shift underneath all of his clothes, barely long enough to touch his thighs but keeping him covered. And then, before Yuuri had time to admire him as he was, he pulled the shift over his head, and threw it aside.

Viktor was the most beautiful creature that Yuuri had ever seen – a human sculpted by the gods, tall, lean, and muscular, with faint scars on his lower arms and upper thighs. Undoubtedly the remains of years of practice with the sword and spear. Yuuri dared not to look further down, having the vague feeling that if he saw all of Viktor, he would lose himself.

Viktor closed the distance between them and kissed him again, slow and gentle, his hands working on Yuuri’s trousers until they slid down his body on their own and pooled around his feet. Viktor lifted him out of them, out of his shoes, and carried him, his bride, through the room to the alcove, and into their nest.

The furs Viktor laid him on were soft, softer than anything Yuuri had ever touched before. He could not even tell what animal they came from, for they were white like the snow. But that, he figured, could wait.

For at the moment, he only had eyes for his husband, who hovered over him, and held him in a protective embrace. His long, silver hair brushed Yuuri’s face as he stroked his cheek, his other hand caressing his waist through Yuuri’s shift. That he had not taken off him, Yuuri realised then. Perhaps, he thought, to keep him warm for now.

But it was warm in their bed, too. It was large, big enough for two adults and maybe one or two small children to sleep in. Countless furs made up the nest, even lining the walls to keep the cold out.

Yuuri instantly felt comfortable there. It was a good place, he thought, to spend their bonding days and nights in.

Viktor gently pressed a kiss to Yuuri’s lips, simple, undemanding, but full of respect. Yuuri returned the kiss, leaning into the other man’s touch for as long as possible until Viktor pulled away, a smile on his lips.

“Kirei,” he said quietly.

Yuuri stared at him. But Viktor said it again, and there was no doubt to what he was saying.

Viktor was calling him beautiful in his own language.

“Kirei Yuuri,” Viktor whispered, his hand caressing Yuuri’s chest tenderly through the shift. “Kirei… Yuuri.”

“Kirei_na_,” Yuuri blurted out before he even knew what he was doing. Viktor paused, frowning in confusion

“K-Kirei-_na_”, Yuuri said, internally cursing himself for not speaking any Russian besides please and thank you. “Ah… Viktor wa kirei, demo…” He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment.

Was he giving his husband language lessons in their marriage bed?

But then, he felt lips on his forehead, and a voice by his ear, whispering to him.

“Kireina Yuuri,” Viktor whispered, kissing his neck. “Kireina Yuuri.”

Yuuri swallowed thickly, forcing himself not to burst into tears in front of his husband, for he truly would not be able to explain that. But never had someone called him beautiful, not with such adoration and tenderness.

He opened his eyes and reached out to touch Viktor in return. “Kirei… in Russian?” He asked, hoping that Viktor would understand.

Thankfully, he did. “Kraseevyi,” Viktor replied.

Yuuri licked his lips, touching Viktor’s cheek. “Kraseevyi Viktor,” he said softly, hoping that he was saying it right.

Viktor’s face lit up instantly. “Yuuuuuri!” He laughed softly and buried his face in Yuuri’s neck, kissing him there in a way that sent the most wonderful shivers down his spine.

But then Viktor pulled away again, his hands resting on Yuuri’s waist, and they simply looked at each other for a long moment, taking their time.

There was no one to disturb them anymore, was there?

Viktor was the most beautiful man Yuuri had ever seen, but there was something about him, a sadness, hidden away in his eyes, deep in his soul, that Yuuri felt the urge to kiss it away. And so he did, slowly leaning up and meeting his lips, capturing them in a tender kiss. Viktor responded immediately, moving closer to Yuuri, resting his weight on top of him. Yuuri instinctively hooked his leg around his waist, wanting to feel more, wanting to be even closer than they already were, to taste all of him, not just his lips, but the rest of his body, in any way possible.

There was a hand on his bare thigh, caressing, curious, yet hesitant, and Yuuri’s heart almost burst at the realisation that Viktor was doing this for him. He was not doing whatever he wanted, although he certainly would have had the right to do so, for he was Yuuri’s head now, and by law, making decisions for him. But Viktor did no such thing.

He met him where he was, without words. And the burning, the sweet, longing desire in Yuuri’s belly where his soul resided, only became stronger at that.

“Viktor,” Yuuri breathed, arching his back and bearing his neck to him in an almost submissive gesture. With his leg around Viktor’s waist, he pulled him closer, nearer to the centre of his body, where the burning was the strongest. “Viktor…”

Finally, Viktor’s hand slipped further up his thigh and under his shift. Yuuri gasped as he felt his fingers on him, right where the priestess had touched him, right where he bled, and from where he would bear his husband children, if the gods wanted it so.

And there, Viktor’s hand paused, his fingertips right where it burned the most, and did not move further.

Yuuri opened his eyes and met Viktor’s gaze, afraid of what he might find in his eyes. What if he was disgusted by what he was, by his true nature, what if he rejected him as a sacred one? Like many others did already by merely knowing of him?

But there was no disgust, no horror, no confusion in Viktor. Instead, he was looking at Yuuri in awe, full of adoration for the miracle that he was.

Something, deep in Yuuri’s heart, clicked into place as their eyes met.

“You can continue,” Yuuri whispered, reaching up to touch Viktor’s cheek. “I’m not afraid.”

There was no way that Viktor could have understood a word of what he had been saying.

But they learnt that night that between them, no words would ever be needed.

Viktor kissed him hard, hungrily, as if kissing Yuuri were the only thing to keep him from the abyss, his fingers slipping into Yuuri with ease. Yuuri gasped, not in pain but in pleasure, instinctively pushing his hips towards him for more of the sweet, delicious ache. But then Viktor’s fingers were gone, and Yuuri let out a whine against his lips, not understanding why he had stopped. But then there were hands on his thighs, keeping them apart, and something much bigger and longer replaced Viktor’s fingers, moving deep inside him.

A silent cry was all that came from Yuuri as he held onto Viktor for dear life, his nails digging into his shoulders.

There was pain, yes, just as he had been warned, but there was more to it, so much more than he had ever dared to imagine. Of course he had touched himself at night when the family had been asleep, he had tasted the sweet pains of his body and had wanted more, but he had never dared to think that one day, he would give his body to someone else, to become someone’s mate, and share the holiest of pleasures with them.

Viktor stilled above him, breathing heavily.

Yuuri opened his eyes.

Even like this, in the midst of their union and with the signs of exertion on his face, he found Viktor incredibly beautiful. His long hair fell over his shoulders and brushed Yuuri’s bare clavicles, his chest rose and sank slowly, and his eyes, his beautiful, blue eyes were looking into Yuuri’s, in them a desperate question.

Yuuri understood.

Viktor wanted to know if he was okay.

He leant up to kiss him, the movement bringing them even closer together and pushing Viktor even deeper, so much that Yuuri moaned against his lips, and he hoped that this was a good enough answer for his husband. That he wanted this, that he felt good, and that by the gods in the Heavens above, he wanted more of it.

And then, Viktor began to move, slowly at first and creating the most beautiful friction. Yuuri held onto him, the pain upon the intrusion long forgotten, and allowed himself to get lost in the pleasure as their hips met, again and again. And there were moans, Viktor’s moans, right by his ear, and the realisation that it was _him_, that it was _his body_ that made Viktor feel like this, hit Yuuri with full force.

How could it be that someone like Viktor, someone to gentle, kind, and affectionate, had been chosen for him? For a sacred one that was so unimportant, so easy to disregard?

Could it truly be that the gods had meant this for him?

“Yuuri…” Viktor moaned as his thrusts became more erratic, and Yuuri wrapped his legs tighter around him, chasing the pleasure that was building in his belly, right where his soul sat, until he could no longer hold it back, and a wave of pure bliss washed over him, causing him to cry out, Viktor’s name on his lips.

For some time, whose duration Yuuri could not tell, he felt nothing but peace, as if everything in his life, everything that he had doubted and cursed and pushed away had suddenly become obsolete. For there was nothing that mattered now, for there was only him and Viktor, and their bond that no one would ever be able to break.

Suddenly, Viktor stiffened above him, and with a final, deep thrust, he found his release, and left his seed deep inside Yuuri with a strangled cry before collapsing on top of him, breathing heavily in exhaustion.

Neither of them said a word for a long time, both of them basking in the blissful afterglow of their union. Viktor was heavy, but his weight on top of him was not unpleasant, for he could feel his heartbeat right next to his own, and breathe in his scent.

After a while, Viktor moved out of him and lay down beside him instead, cupping his cheek and kissing him on the lips. “Yuuri?” He asked with a soft frown.

Yuuri understood. “I’m fine,” he whispered, kissing him back. “I feel wonderful.”

And his husband smiled at that, although not understanding a word of what he was saying. They kissed for a little longer, slow and unhurried, for they had done their duty and were allowed some time of indulgence.

It was Viktor who eventually pulled away, and he climbed out of bed for a moment. Yuuri heard him search for something, but waited patiently for him to return. When Viktor came back, he had a wet cloth in his hand, questioningly touching Yuuri’s ankle.

Yuuri sat up, reaching for the cloth as he suddenly felt something pour out of him between his legs, and there was definitely no doubt to what it was. Immediately he pulled his shift down to cover himself in terrible embarrassment, but Viktor only laughed and moved closer to wash away the evidence of their mating, only pausing to kiss away the blush on Yuuri’s cheek. Yuuri had to admit he was careful, and that it felt nice, indeed, to be taken care of. But as Yuuri saw the cloth, and the blood mixed with Viktor’s seed, he covered his eyes in shame, for there was more, so much more than he had thought.

“Yuuri…” Viktor said softly and kissed his temple. Something wet hit the floor, and Yuuri was sure that Viktor had just tossed the dirty cloth out of their bed. “Yuuri?”

Yuuri lowered his hands slowly, barely daring to look his husband in the eye for the mess his body had made, but Viktor seemed entirely unfazed by it. Instead, he was given another kiss, long and loving, before Viktor pulled away again and left their bed a second time.

Yuuri shuffled forward on the bed to the little curtain, peeking out from their nest. Viktor stood by the fire, naked as the day he was born with his back to Yuuri, throwing the cloth into the flames. Yuuri could not help but feel relieved. If his mother, or anyone else had seen it, he would have surely died of embarrassment.

But instead of coming back to bed, Viktor looked into the flames, watching the cloth burn until it was no more. Yuuri frowned a little, leaning forward a little more, trying to understand.

Then, Viktor reached for one of the knives on the shelf by the cooking place, the very same that he had used to remove their ribbon. With one hand, he reached back, grasping his long hair, and with the other, he cut it off in a swift, single movement.

Yuuri gasped in shock.

Viktor returned the knife to its place on the cupboard, his hair in his hand, now hanging from it lifeless and without the same shine it had had just moments before.

Yuuri was sure of what he would do next.

But Viktor pulled a single strand from the hair first, keeping it in his free hand before the rest of it joined the cloth in the fire, as well as some herbs from a pot to conceal the pungent smell. With the single strand left in his hand, he returned to the alcove and knelt before Yuuri.

With quick, skilled fingers he braided the silver hair, and put it around Yuuri’s wrist as a bracelet, and kissed the back of his hand.

Yuuri could not help but look at him in awe, still shocked by what Viktor had done. But Viktor seemed entirely unfazed by the loss of his hair, and what was left of it now fell over his eyes. He looked more mature now, Yuuri thought, and instinctively reached out to push his hair out of his face.

The gesture alone made Viktor smile, and he crawled back into their nest with him, pulling Yuuri closer for a tender, loving kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I speak some Japanese, but please do tell me if I did anything wrong with "kirei".  
As for the Russian, please correct me if this doesn't make any sense at all.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and tell me what you think in the comments!


	4. A Language of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: Smut, fluff, and Viktor being an idiot in love.

Viktor could not stop looking at his husband.

His mate.

His Yuuri.

He was the most beautiful man that Viktor had ever seen, and there was absolutely no doubt to that. It was not just his fair skin, his big, brown eyes, or his soft, black hair. It was not just the way Yuuri held onto him, clung to him, moved with him, breathed with him. It was everything about him that made Viktor almost go mad in adoration.

But what he adored about Yuuri the most was his smile. A smile, so genuine and powerful, that it could light up the darkest of nights.

They had enjoyed each other again after he had cut off his hair, and then again, and again, Yuuri crying out from beneath him in ecstasy, his legs hooked around Viktor’s hips, refusing to ever let him go again. And Viktor did as he wanted. Never leaving Yuuri’s side, holding him close, even in his sleep.

Yuuri was stunning. His cheeks were reddened from their activities, his hair messy and by the gods, Viktor had never seen such a beautiful body. At some point, they had discarded Yuuri’s shift, which had left him completely naked before him. At first, Yuuri had been shy, his eyes filled with worry about what Viktor could possibly think of him. But Viktor had taken him into his arms, and had kissed him again, and they had loved each other another time.

Yuuri was perfect. A miracle, a gift sent to him, directly from the gods.

For now, they were sated, having enjoyed the other thoroughly over the course of the night. They could only vaguely guess the time of the day, but it surely was early in the morning, for the sun was slowly rising, shining through the small openings where the walls met the roof. The fire was crackling, the pleasant noise in the background as they lay in each other’s arms and explored each other’s faces. Yuuri’s hands were gentle and so very soft, his fingertips gently brushing over Viktor’s cheekbone, down to his jaw, and to his shoulder. There, his fingers lingered on a faint scar, tapping on it questioningly.

“Yura,” Viktor explained. “When he was little. Like…” He raised his hand, gesturing to symbolise a small child. “He was… five, I think?” He held up five fingers, and Yuuri’s eyes shone, and he nodded to show that he understood. “He stole the sword of our father and stumbled with it. I tried to help him up and he almost stabbed me with it.” Viktor pretended to swing a sword and then pointed at the scar. Yuuri gasped, and Viktor cursed himself once more for not speaking Yuuri’s language.

“No, no, no, nothing happened!” He said, rubbing Yuuri’s arm reassuringly. “My father was angry, but my uncle, Yakov, oh, he was furious! Ah, Nikita,” Viktor said, and Yuuri nodded eagerly to show that he understood. “Nikita, angry,” he said, putting on a deep, angry frown, making Yuuri giggle. An adorable blush spread over Yuuri’s cheeks, and he hid his face behind his hands, peeking out from behind his fingers. “But Yakov,” Viktor said, sitting up in bed and pushing his hair back with his hands to pretend to be his uncle. “Yakov, furious!!!” He pretended to scream and pull at his hair, and Yuuri burst into laughter, holding his stomach.

It was the most beautiful sound that Viktor had ever heard.

He lay down beside Yuuri again, pulling him into his arms and laughing with him until the sound of it faded away, and they only looked at each other in absolute adoration. Yuuri reached out to touch the scar on Viktor’s shoulder again, his fingers lingering there for a moment as if searching in it for an untold story. And then, he leant forward and pressed a gentle kiss to it.

Viktor ravished him then and there.

Afterwards, he took his time of taking care of Yuuri, kissing away the evidence of their mating. Yuuri’s body was not only a miracle, it was a divine thing to be worshipped, and Viktor never grew tired of kissing and touching it. It was the only language, after all, that he could use to show Yuuri that he wanted him there, and that he was so grateful to have him.

“What happened there?” Viktor asked, pointing at a scar on Yuuri’s right foot. “Mari?”

Yuuri shook his head and pointed at himself. “Chiisai,” he said and held up nine fingers. What followed was a wave of the most beautiful words that Viktor had ever heard despite not understanding a single one of them. Whenever Yuuri spoke, it sounded like a song, like a magical spell that bound them together. Yuuri had lifted his arms, pretending to throw a spear and then drop it, and then pointed at his foot.

“Oh dear,” Viktor said as he understood. “Little Yuuri must have been crying a lot.” He rubbed Yuuri’s foot and lowered his head to kiss the scar, just like Yuuri had kissed his. A simple glance at his husband was enough to see what his kisses did to the other man, for Yuuri was blushing and looking down at him in both embarrassment and awe at the gesture.

And making Yuuri blush, Viktor realised, was his new favourite pastime.

Kissing up his way Yuuri’s leg he came to nuzzle Yuuri’s stomach, admiring the gentle swell that had appeared there not long ago, after what had probably been their fourth or fifth time of mating. Not all clans could say that they could see the proof of mating on their women – the wolves had it, the lynxes too, and also the foxes. The bears, the hawks, and many others, however, did not have it. Viktor thought back to the days when his peers had gotten married, how they had almost exploded with pride when showing off their mates, and the slight swell of their lower bellies. No wonder, truly, that women preferred to wear dresses to conceal it, to keep their men at bay a little.

Now Viktor could understand their sentiment. Seeing Yuuri like this, the little swell of his belly where he had filled him with his seed, had the wolf in him howl triumphantly.

“My Yuuri, so beautiful,” Viktor whispered and kissed his belly gently. “Kireina Yuuri.”

Yuuri let out a shaky breath at that, his lower lip trembling, and Viktor immediately moved up to kiss any doubt away, any fear and worry that his husband might possibly have. They might not have understood each other in words, but it was enough to make Viktor understand that Yuuri, despite being beautiful and wonderful and stunning and a gift by the gods, often worried. That deep down, Yuuri was insecure and shy, and that being married to someone he barely knew certainly would not help.

“Kireina Yuuri,” Viktor said as he cupped his cheeks and kissed his lips. “Kireina, kireina, kireina.” With ever word, he kissed him more, until it became absolutely ridiculous and Yuuri began to laugh again, all of the tension finally leaving his body, and he melted into Viktor’s arms.

They slept some more, holding onto each other under the furs that kept them warm.

* * *

Viktor knelt by the fireplace, stirring in the pot his mother had gifted him upon his upcoming marriage, as he heard the upset cry of his mate.

“Viktor?”

The man in question immediately let go of the scoop and rushed back to the alcove from where Yuuri was peeking out, his beautiful, brown eyes filled with worry that only disappeared upon seeing Viktor.

“I’m here, I’m here,” Viktor whispered and kissed his mate several times on both cheeks. He had not wanted to upset him, and now, he cursed himself for having done so nonetheless. What was it that Lilia had said, a few days before the wedding? A mate that married into a new clan would be lonely and lost, and cling to their partner in the beginning. Yuuri, it seemed was no exception.

“I’m sorry I left you, but I wanted to cook something for you, see?” He knew that Yuuri would not understand him, but as he gestured at the pot on the fire, Yuuri followed him with his gaze – and promptly, his stomach growled.

Viktor laughed as Yuuri blushed in embarrassment and he kissed him once more. “Just a little longer, my Yuuri, yes? Then we can eat. I’ll bring you some.” He rose to his feet again, but not without pulling a fur from their nest and wrapping it around Yuuri’s shoulders to keep him warm. Yuuri averted his gaze in bashfulness, but pressed a quick kiss to Viktor’s cheek before he had the chance to pull away.

Viktor’s heart soared at the gesture.

“One more moment,” he whispered to Yuuri and then went back to the fireplace and to cooking, not missing the little squeak coming from Yuuri when he showed him his bare backside. Viktor chuckled, throwing a knowing glance over his shoulder at Yuuri.

Yuuri hid half of his face in the fur, the blush nonetheless reaching his forehead. But his eyes were shining, and Viktor was thrilled that it was _him_ who managed to make Yuuri feel like this.

A few moments later their meal was ready, and Viktor carefully filled two bowls with it before returning to their nest, settling beside Yuuri.

“I hope you like it,” Viktor said, handing his husband one of the bowls. “I was not sure what you like but I made some stew and-“

Yuuri had leant closer and kissed his cheek before Viktor could even finish his sentence, and before he could even react to it, Yuuri had thrown a fur over his lap to protect him, should he spill some of the stew.

“Thank you,” Viktor smiled and settled closer to him, watching in anticipation as Yuuri brought the bowl to his lips, taking the first sip.

“Oishii…” Yuuri whispered, taking another sip before looking at Viktor. “Oishii!”

“Oshi?” Viktor repeated curiously.

Yuuri shook his head. “Oishii,” he said, slower this time and stressing the last syllable more, and made a humming sound.

“Oh, you mean you like it!” Viktor said and beamed at him. “Oh, I’m glad!”

Yuuri chuckled, kissing Viktor’s cheek quickly. “Spasibo.”

Viktor blinked. “Yuuuuuri! You speak Russian!” He cried out and almost dropped his bowl in his excitement.

After their meal, Viktor joined Yuuri in their bed again. It was the part of their home that Viktor had been worried about the most. For months, he had collected furs and blankets, buying some at the market but the majority of them he had taken from the animals he had hunted. Every single one of them he had killed with honour, and had sacrificed their hearts to the gods on the altar to show his respect for their lives, and that they would understand that their sacrifice would not go unnoticed. That from now on, their fur would keep his mate warm, and that he had not killed them in vain. For that was a sin and went against the gods.

But now that he could see Yuuri in their nest, curling up under the furs and resting his head on his chest, Viktor knew he had done good. The wall separating their nest from the rest of their home was connected to the fireplace and therefore, always radiating the warmth of the fire so their nest would never grow cold, not even in the coldest of winters. The walls he had ornamented with hooks on which they had put Yuuri’s jewellery, including the necklaces they had both won one year ago, at the archery competition. Yuuri had blushed at the sight of them, and Viktor knew that Yuuri felt bad for splitting his arrow in half. But Viktor could not have been prouder of his mate for being such a skilled archer.

Even his brother had been impressed.

“You were stunning back then, you know,” Viktor whispered into Yuuri’s ear as he curled up behind him. “The way you held yourself. Like a god walking amongst us mortals. The light of the sun, directly coming from you. I already knew back then that I would never be able to forget you, Yuuri.”

Yuuri gave him a sleepy smile, and Viktor found himself once more frustrated about the fact that there was no actual language that they shared. He was merely able to call Yuuri beautiful, and whilst he would have done so happily every second for the rest of their lives, he wished that he could say more.

It was not that he had not asked his father to teach him. But Nikita had told him that it was up to Yuuri to learn their language, and not the other way round. And his mother, the ever-loyal wife of her husband, had agreed with him.

It had been Yakov in the end who had taught him the word ‘kirei’. Where Yakov had gotten that word from Viktor had never dared to ask.

Pulling the largest of the furs up to their shoulders, they slept.

* * *

There was more to his fascination with Yuuri, of course, than just their physical union – although Viktor had to admit that he had never felt anything like it.

With Yuuri in his arms, something in his heart had clicked into place, and Viktor was sure that the gods had not made a mistake. That indeed, this man was only meant for him, meant to be his mate for the rest of their lives and beyond. There simply was something about Yuuri that drew Viktor to him; from the eyes that sparkled in glee when he made him laugh, from the hands that caressed his cheeks in the light of the fire, to the way Yuuri looked at him when Viktor had been out of their nest for too long in his opinion. Then, there would be an unspoken demand in them, a hunger, and Viktor would return to him gladly and make him his.

Yuuri was the perfect mate. Not that Viktor had a lot of options to compare him to, but the few men – and women – he had slept with in his youth were nothing like Yuuri, not even in the slightest. The way Yuuri moved with him, held onto him, gave himself to him was beyond compare.

And then there was the quick wit that Yuuri possessed, his ability to follow all of Viktor’s words even if he did not understand them. At some point, they had started to point at things nearby and give the other the name of it in their respective language. Yuuri stumbled at first over the words Viktor taught him, but to hear him speak Russian, and point at a fur and say “shkura” when he was cold melted Viktor’s heart every single time.

How could he not admire his mate?

They had been sleeping after mating once more, hidden under the many furs of their nest. Of the three days and three nights they were to spend together in solitude, two were already over, and Viktor could feel that Yuuri was becoming impatient to stretch his legs. But his mate never complained and remained where he was supposed to be, resting, bonding with him, making love with him. The Taking was a sacred time, an opportunity for them to become familiar with each other, to learn what the other wanted and needed. And of course, it was a time meant to use to father the first child. The more a mate was taken, the more likely it was that the seed would settle, and bring forth new life. The swell on Yuuri’s lower belly was proof of their frequent mating, and oh, Viktor loved to see his mate like this.

What would it be like, he wondered, to see Yuuri carrying new life?

He sighed, nuzzling Yuuri’s neck and pulling him closer, his hand protectively on Yuuri’s stomach.

Yuuri let out a gentle hum, moving back against him, gently rolling his hips, trying to coax a reaction from Viktor and oh, was he successful. Viktor felt himself harden in an instant, and he instinctively met Yuuri’s movements with his own hips, his hand slipping from Yuuri’s belly between his legs.

A soft whimper came from Yuuri in return as Viktor touched him, parting his legs to let him in. Yuuri was warm and wet, and Viktor wanted nothing more than to sink into him, to immerse into this warmth forever. But he knew he had to be gentle, for sacred ones like Yuuri were fragile, and after seeing the blood after their first mating, he did not want to cause Yuuri more pain like this. But it seemed that Yuuri had no time for patience, for he was moving back against Viktor’s hand to take in more of it, and Viktor reached for his hips, forcing him to hold him still. Could he not see that if he was not careful, he would hurt him?

The moment Viktor’s hands pressed down on the small of Yuuri’s back, Yuuri held still.

Viktor slowly raised his head.

Yuuri was looking at him over his shoulder, his weight resting on his lower arms, his back so wonderfully arched. For a moment, neither of them moved or said a word. There was something in Yuuri’s eyes, a certain humour – some kind of mischief, even. His eyes bore into Viktor’s, questioning, no, challenging him. And then, Yuuri licked his lips, daringly, if to ask Viktor what he was waiting for, and lowered himself onto the furs, burying his face in them, bearing his neck to Viktor in the ultimate submissive gesture.

The wolf inside him howled in triumph as he grabbed Yuuri by his hips and pushed into him without hesitation.

This was how it should have happened the first time, Viktor remembered, for this was the way of their ancestors. To take a mate like this, to have them resting underneath their man with their faces down, was not just a way of establishing dominance and submission. It was a means to prove that he could protect his mate, shield Yuuri with his own body in even such a vulnerable act as mating.

Yuuri mewled as Viktor took him, his thrusts forceful and precise. For a moment, Viktor paused, leaning forward to check if Yuuri was alright, but his mate reached back, gripping Viktor’s arm and squeezing it in a clear demand to continue. Viktor gladly followed his wish. He picked up the pace that Yuuri had set earlier, his hands digging into the flesh of Yuuri’s waist as he held him down, pinning him to their nest and moving in and out of him in the most feral way, his thrusts sharp and fast. This was how it had been meant to be in the early days, when the first man had claimed the first mate. Yuuri was his, and Yuuri willingly submitted to him, offering him his body in the ultimate gesture of inferiority.

There were no sounds but those of skin against skin and the crackling of the fire as Viktor had him, pearls of sweat running down his forehead from the exertion that it took to have his mate. One of his hands slipped from Yuuri’s back and around his waist, cupping the swell of his belly where he had left his seed already so many times. He would make sure the swell would never vanish, that it would forever be visible, that the world would see that he had claimed his mate and filled him up, that there was no one that could come and arrogate his Yuuri for himself. Oh no, he would fight any man that dared to come too close to his mate, and lay their heads to Yuuri’s feet.

Yuuri cried out as Viktor thrust into him harder at that, his hands curling into fists on the furs, and Viktor was sure that regardless of whether it was night or day, the whole village had surely heard him. But he could not have cared less. Was this not the proof that he was now a man, that he was doing his duty, taking his mate in complete submission?

The sound that escaped Yuuri’s throat as he tightened around Viktor and came was beyond compare, and it took Viktor only a few more thrusts to follow him into the bliss of their climax, emptying his seed into Yuuri’s womb with a strangled cry.

Viktor was sure that for a while, he had gone blind. That the gods had taken his sight away, for there was too much to see for a mere mortal in the heights of bliss, too much that he could have possibly understood any of it. But he could feel it, feel the kiss of the goddess on them as she blessed their union once more.

He could not tell for how long he remained on top of Yuuri, buried deep inside his warmth, giving him his seed. Yuuri lay completely still, recollecting his breath, not saying a single word. Viktor closed his eyes, hiding his face in Yuuri’s shoulder as he came to realise what they had just done – what _he_ had done to his mate. And that Yuuri, who was a stranger to their ways, and did not know of the power of the wolf inside Viktor, had given himself to him in this way so willingly.

As Viktor finally pulled out of him, Yuuri let out a whine at the loss, and Viktor stopped his seed from flowing out by pushing his fingers into him, earning a surprised gasp from his mate.

“Shhh,” Viktor whispered, kissing his neck soothingly and grasping Yuuri’s chin. “We don’t want to let it go to waste, do we?”

Yuuri, of course, had no idea what was being said to him, but he relaxed, resting his head on the fur and closing his eyes in exhaustion as he let Viktor take care of him. Viktor was careful, knowing that Yuuri was most likely sore now from their activities. Gently, he removed his fingers and replaced them with a clean cloth that he put between Yuuri’s legs to catch any seed that might still come out of him, and then wrapped Yuuri into a fur to shield him from the cold before settling to sleep beside him again.

They had drifted off to sleep within minutes.

* * *

Yuuri woke to the sound of singing.

It was not a real song with words, however. Just the gentle humming of another person, of someone in a good mood. His mother had always hummed while making dinner, and so had Mari, whilst taking care of her spear. And his father had always hummed a song for no reason, but had claimed that humming made one happy.

The song he could hear now was a happy one, and Yuuri’s heart fluttered in his chest.

But upon opening his eyes, he realised that he was not with his family anymore. After the initial confusion wore off, the memories came back to him at full force. That he was married, that he had a husband, and had been taken more times that he could have possibly imagined over the course of what had seemed like eternity.

Viktor.

Yuuri immediately sat up in bed, crying out at the sharp pain that flashed through his body as a consequence. He fell back into the furs, hands instinctively wrapped around his belly to protect the swell there as he waited for the pain to fade. His hips hurt, no, his entire abdomen hurt, the constant ache having become even worse after Viktor had taken him the other way round. And although it had been fantastic – more than that, even – it had taken a toll on Yuuri’s body, and he had no choice but to lie there and wait for the pain to pass.

The curtain to their nest was pushed aside, and Viktor’s beautiful face appeared before him, now adorned with worry.

“Yuuri,” he said in relief upon seeing that he was awake, and half-climbed back into bed to touch his hand, and ask him a question that Yuuri did not understand. Viktor’s hand moved to Yuuri’s waist, rubbing it carefully as he waited for an answer. When none came, his hand moved further down to his hipbone, and to the other side, giving it a little squeeze. Yuuri winced, and Viktor immediately withdrew his hand.

“Mne ochen’ zhal’,” he said softly.

Yuuri did not have to speak Russian to know that his husband was sorry.

With Viktor’s help, he managed to sit up and move towards the curtain to leave their nest. For three days and three nights, he had not gone anywhere, and Yuuri was sure that his legs would not carry him. Carefully, he placed his feet on the floor and simply moved his toes to get a feeling for them again. Viktor waited patiently beside him, rubbing his back and telling him something that sounded even more like an apology. But none of this was truly Viktor’s fault. Yuuri had been warned by Minako that the Taking would take its toll on his body, and that the pain was the price he would have to pay.

He let his eyes wander and found, to his surprise, a bathtub waiting for him by the fire. Viktor followed his gaze and nodded enthusiastically, gesturing at it and then at Yuuri, who realised that his husband had prepared a bath for him.

A bath, he found, sounded absolutely wonderful.

Slowly, he rose to his feet and took a step forward, but winced at the pain it caused him in his lower body. Viktor was at his side at once, picking him up and carrying him the few steps from the alcove to the tub and lowered him into the hot water. Yuuri hissed at the sudden change of temperature, but almost cried in relief when he felt his sore muscles relax.

Viktor knelt down beside the tub, running a hand through Yuuri’s hair before kissing his forehead. “Mne ochen’ zhal’,” he said again, his eyes filled with worry and regret, but Yuuri shook his head.

“I’ll be okay,” he told him and reached for Viktor’s hand that rested on the edge of the wooden tub. “It was worth it.”

Oh, how he wished to be able to speak Russian, to tell Viktor in his own words that he did not regret any of this. That the last three nights and three days had been absolutely wonderful, and that he would not trade his husband for anything else in the world.

Viktor, however, seemed to understand nonetheless. He lowered his head and kissed the back of Yuuri’s hand before looking at him again, with an expression so dreamy that Yuuri would have lost himself in it had it not been for the pot on the fire behind Viktor.

“Viktor, the food!” He exclaimed, causing Viktor to whip around and rush to save their breakfast from burning.

After the bath, Viktor helped him dress, showing him the clothes that he had prepared for him. They were different from the things they wore in the south, made of thicker material and the collar of the tunics even lined with fur against the cold. But they were very comfortable, Yuuri realised as he let Viktor dress him, and puts the belt around his waist. And then, Viktor pressed a kiss to the swell on his stomach, causing Yuuri to blush deeply. He knew what Viktor meant by it, what the people of the village, what their families expected of them.

But Viktor was on his feet again and pulled him closer by the waist, pressing their foreheads together. Yuuri squeaked, but found their position not uncomfortable. It felt nice to be in Viktor’s arms again, just like the nights and days before, and it seemed that Viktor seemed to think the same. For Viktor sighed softly and cupped Yuuri’s face with his hands ever so gently, taking a deep breath to inhale his scent.

“Yuuri…” He whispered, followed by something in Russian that Yuuri did not understand, but whatever it was, it made his knees feel weaker than they already were. Yuuri closed his eyes, leaning into Viktor’s touch and breathing in his scent in return. How could it be, he wondered, that they were already so close to each other after only a few days, when all they had been doing was to mate, and learn of the other through their bodies?

Their lips found each other effortlessly, melting together as if they had never known anything else. Yuuri moaned into Viktor’s mouth and wrapped his arms around his neck, wanting to be closer, wanting to feel all of Viktor, wanting to chase the wonderful feeling that had begun to pool in his stomach again. And it seemed that Viktor felt it too, felt the heat between them and the desire in Yuuri’s kisses. But all too soon, he pulled away to breathe, albeit very reluctantly. His lips were swollen from kissing, and his pale cheeks reddened, but to Yuuri, he had never been more beautiful.

“Bozhe moi, Yuuri…” Viktor said breathlessly, licking his lips.

Yuuri could only agree.

Eventually, a cough interrupted them, and they turned around.

Mari stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame casually and giving them one of her famous looks.

“Mari!” Yuuri gasped and let go of Viktor to go hug her, ignoring the pain in his abdomen.

His sister hugged him back and then let out a huff. “He’s had you for three days and three nights, can’t he keep his hands off you for, like, a second?” She asked, nodding at Viktor and then looking at the small swell of Yuuri’s belly between them. “Seems like you had fun.”

Yuuri turned even redder than he already was and put his hands protectively on his stomach. “How have you been?” He asked in a strangely high voice, trying to change the subject. “Where are mother and father?”

“Outside,” Mari replied, gesturing at the door, and Yuuri was immensely grateful she had dropped the matter for now. “Mother was worried sick the whole time. Was he good to you?” She suddenly demanded to know, throwing a glance at Viktor, who was watching them from the fire. “Because I will rip him to shreds if he’s not treating you right.”

“H-He’s been nothing but kind to me, Mari, I swear!” Yuuri sighed and was glad for the very first time that Viktor, his gaze flickering curiously between the siblings, had no idea what they were talking about. “I… I want to see our parents.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Mari said. “We are leaving today.”

Yuuri’s stomach sank. “T-Today?“

In an instant, Viktor was beside him, his hand on the small of Yuuri’s back and a question in Russian directed at Mari.

Mari raised an eyebrow. “We are leaving today,” she repeated for him, pointing at herself and at the door, and then made a walking gesture with her fingers.

Yuuri lowered his head. He had been aware that his family would leave shortly after the wedding, but he had always pushed that thought far away, not wanting to think of it. But now that the moment to say goodbye had come, Yuuri wanted to run.

Mari gently patted his arm. “I know,” she said softly, in a voice so understanding that it did not even sound like her at first. “But it won’t be for long, remember? The meeting of the clans is in a few months. We’ll see each other there.”

Yuuri nodded softly, and then Viktor said something that sounded like a suggestion. Yuuri met his gaze, and Viktor kissed the top of his head and gestured at the door behind Mari.

“I think he wants you to go and talk to mother and father,” Mari said, moving aside to let them through. “Hey, why did he cut his hair?”

Yuuri did not reply, following Viktor out of their home and stepping into the sunlight for the very first time since their wedding.

It was a cold day, but not as cold as it has been on their wedding day. The snow, he realised, was slowly melting, revealing the grass underneath and making way for Spring. It would never be as warm as in the south up here in the north, but he had been told of the northern sun, and how enjoyable a summer at the ocean side could be. It was something he would experience for the first time this year, in his new home.

But sadly, without his parents and sister.

The path to the centre of the village was dry, fortunately, for Yuuri was sure that he would have slipped otherwise. His hips hurt still, and he walked close to Viktor and Mari as they approached his parents who stood in the sun and spoke to Nikita and Yelena. It was Yelena who saw them first, clasping her hands in delight at the sight of Viktor and Yuuri, causing the others to turn around as well.

“Yuuri!” Hiroko exclaimed and rushed to greet her son, pulling him into a hug the moment he was within reach.

“Kaa-san,” Yuuri breathed, burying his face in her shoulder like he had done so many times, breathing in his mother’s soothing scent.

Nikita hummed in greeting behind her. “Good morning to you too, Yuuri,” he said with a small smile.

Yuuri immediately let go of his mother and bowed his head in apology to the clan leader, but Nikita just laughed. “No need to greet me first. Your mother was so worried. And- yes, my wife, too,” he added softly as Yelena pulled Viktor into her arms and then cupped his cheek to examine his face, her hands touching his short hair. She was beaming with pride, and whatever she was saying to Viktor, it must have been something scandalous, for Viktor turned red on the spot and exclaimed: “Mama!”

But Yelena only laughed and kissed him on both cheeks. “So shy!” She chuckled and then turned to Yuuri, pulling him into a warm hug. “You are my son now. You have questions, you come to me. Viktor is pretty, but he does not know all. Yes?”

Yuuri nodded softly, and he couldn’t help but laugh at her last comment. Indeed, Viktor was pretty, but from what he knew of him already, it seemed that he often had his head in the clouds.

“Now you have two mothers,” Hiroko said, her hand resting right above her heart. “Yelena has promised to take care of you when… when I cannot be there for you.” She sniffed and wiped a tear away, the hand of her husband comfortingly on her shoulder. Yuuri’s heart broke at the sight of his mother crying, and he took her hands.

“But it won’t be for too long, right? We’ll see each other at the meeting of the clans,” he said, looking at his father and at Viktor’s parents. “Right?”

Nikita glanced at Viktor. “That is up to Viktor entirely,” he said eventually. “But yes. The clan meeting is in a few months. You might meet there.”

“Of course you will meet!” Yelena said firmly, slapping her husband’s arm in annoyance. “Viktor won’t say no. Viktor?” She quickly said something to him in Russian that had Viktor widen his eyes and repeat the Russian word for ‘yes’ over and over again, not only to his mother but also to Hiroko, but mostly, to Yuuri, touching his hand reassuringly.

“Oh, he is so smitten with you already, my darling,” Hiroko said happily and clasped her hands in delight. “I know you are in the very best hands here. With a new family and your husband to take care of you.”

Toshiya nodded in agreement. “We have no doubt that you will be happy here,” he said. “And although it pains me to leave my child behind, I know that this is…” He took a deep breath, and for a moment, Yuuri believed to see the pain on his father’s always so serene face. “This is what the gods want.”

And that was the essence of it, was it not? The gods had wanted this match, and although Yuuri had fought it at first, his heart had accepted his fate.

After all, he was not alone in it. The will of the gods affected not only him alone, but also Viktor. Viktor, who was gentle and kind, who had taken care of him so wonderfully and who always thought of Yuuri first in everything they had done.

With Viktor, he felt safe.

Viktor’s hand on the small of his back helped, kept him on his feet as he eventually watched his parents and his sister ride away on their horses. But Viktor’s hand could not stop the tears from flowing. And they kept coming, even after his family had disappeared behind the horizon.

“You don’t have to hide them,” Nikita said when Yuuri tried to discreetly wipe them away, and briefly touched his shoulder. “Here, a man can cry for his family. There is no shame in it.”

Yuuri merely nodded softly, but could not bring himself to turn away from the road and face the life that was waiting for him now. If he turned around, he was sure, he would lose all ties he had to his family.

He had never been without them.

And now, he was alone in the north, amongst people whose language he did not speak, whose customs he did not know.

Yuuri felt a pair of hands coming to rest on his shoulders, squeezing them reassuringly. Viktor told him without words what he had just realised, namely that he was not alone. That despite all the difficulties waiting for him, he did not have to fight alone. He was someone’s mate now, and had someone to take care of him.

And that, he had to admit, was more than most sacred ones had.

But that did not mean that it would be easy.

* * *

Viktor stayed with him for the rest of the day, showing him around the village and introducing him to the people. The village was larger than his home, and stretched across the entire shore up to the cliffs. They were not steep like the ones in his home village, but more even, which made Yuuri wonder if they never had to fear the waves of the sea. But the ocean had been calm so far, and perhaps it always was that way. Some of the houses in the village even seemed rather old, which had to mean that even if there were bad weather conditions, the houses would survive them largely unharmed.

The people living in the village were, as it turned out, lovely and welcoming. None of them seemed to bat an eye at the fact that the son of their clan leader had married another man, or a sacred one – especially not Viktor’s friends, who greeted Yuuri as if he had always been part of their group. Amongst them was Viktor’s cousin Georgi, a tall, pale man with surprisingly dark hair. He began to openly weep at the sight of them and shook Yuuri’s hand in the most warming way, giving them his blessings. Yuuri later learnt from Yelena that Georgi had been engaged, too, but that the girl’s family had broken off the engagement after she had asked them to do so. But Georgi seemed nice enough, just like the rest of Viktor’s peers, and Yuuri was determined to learn Russian quickly and become able to speak with them.

The women of the village hogged Yuuri the moment Viktor was briefly distracted, and he found himself in the midst of excited northern ladies touching his hair and patting his belly approvingly, so much that Yuuri wanted to crawl under a rock and die there of embarrassment. The tunic he wore hid the swell of his belly rather well, but of course they would know what was hidden underneath, having all been in the very same situation once. Viktor eventually had to rescue him from their excitement, and called something at them to which they replied with excited squeals.

Yuuri did not even want to know what his husband had told them.

But it was not too long before Viktor took him home again and cooked for him. Watching Viktor move around in their home was mesmerising, for it was clear that Viktor had never taken care of another human before. He would turn around every now and then and wait for Yuuri’s approval of what he was doing. Not that it would have been necessary. Viktor was a skilled cook, and had made dinner in no time. It was a simple meal, just some soup and dried meat, but it was filling and delicious, and Yuuri kissed Viktor to thank him.

It did not take them long to return to their nest and shed their clothes, losing themselves in each other once more.

* * *

It was the following day Yuuri met the one person that did not seem to like him, and he had no idea why.

They were having breakfast, leaning against each other by the fire and enjoying their meal and each other’s company as a knock on the door interrupted their blissful morning. Viktor kissed Yuuri’s forehead quickly and then went to open the door. It was his younger brother who walked in a moment later, crossing his arms and barking at Viktor in annoyance. Yuuri watched discretely, taking in the boy that was his brother-in-law. He had grown a little since he had seen him the first time. How old was he now, fifteen or sixteen, perhaps? His hair was not as light as Viktor’s, and he was more his mother’s son, but it was unquestionable that they were siblings. For they had the same fire burning inside them, and not even someone blind could have missed that.

For some reason, the other Yuri seemed even more annoyed than he usually was, almost shouting at Viktor who rolled his eyes and then sighed, replying to his brother in a surprisingly calm way whilst gesturing at Yuuri.

Yuri turned his head and stared down at him, with such anger in his eyes that it made Yuuri shrink on his seat. The boy scowled at him with a force that was without equal, and then muttered something under his breath, barely audible for anyone to hear. But Yuuri did not miss the tone of voice, and he was sure that whatever Yuri had said, it had not been something nice.

In an instant, Viktor had closed the remaining distance between them and slapped his brother hard across the face, the sound of it echoing in the hut.

“Viktor--!“ Yuuri breathed, but his husband did not hear him. He had grabbed Yuri’s chin firmly, pushing his cheeks together, glaring at him in anger that was beyond compare. The words that came out of his mouth were quiet ones, but whatever Viktor said, they had an instant effect on his brother.

Viktor finally let go of his brother and the boy stormed out without another word.

Yuuri stared at his husband in shock.

In an instant, Viktor’s face fell, and he dropped to his knees by the fire next to Yuuri, taking his hands and kissing them several times. “Mne ochen’ zhal,” he said again and again, and Yuuri realised that Viktor was worried that he was afraid of him. He gave Viktor’s hands a reassuring squeeze and quickly kissed his cheek, which, fortunately, made the other man shut up. There was a lot that he wanted to ask him, one of the questions being why his brother seemed to hate him, but all of this would have to wait.

Viktor sighed, looking down at their joined hands on his lap, and Yuuri knew that he was genuinely sorry, and that he was just as frustrated as him about the language barrier.

But that was a problem they would have to solve over time.

Yuuri accompanied Viktor down the path to the elder’s circle where a meeting would be held. He was not allowed to join, of course, but it felt nice to take Viktor there, and to be kissed by him once more – although Yuuri was sure that this was not something people did in the north, and that they usually kept such displays of affection in the private sphere.

It was on his way back to their home that he saw the other Yuri lingering by the cliffs near their hut, absentmindedly kicking pebbles down the shore. When he caught sight of Yuuri, he glared at him, and Yuuri could not help but notice the red, angry swelling on the boy’s cheek.

Yuuri decided then and there to take the matter into his own hands.

He walked up to the boy and grabbed his hand, pulling Yuri with him towards the house. The boy began to yell angrily but Yuuri did not let go, dragging him along into their hut and sitting him down on one of the furs by the fire. Yuri shouted like a rabid cat, but Yuuri ignored him, gently grabbing the boy’s head to take a closer look at the cheek where Viktor had slapped him.

It was nothing serious, of course, but a hard slap like this could leave angry marks on a person’s skin. And of course, on a person’s pride.

“Wait here,” Yuuri said and pointed at where the boy was sitting before he went to get the bag of herbs that his mother had packed him before they had departed from home. To his surprise, Yuri remained where he was, watching him with an angry stare.

Yuuri picked a few herbs from the bag and ground them in a bowl. Then he poured some of the cold water Viktor had brought in earlier over the herbs and soaked a clean cloth in the mixture. Once he was done, he folded the cloth a few times and returned to his young patient, pressing the cloth carefully against his swollen cheek.

Yuri hissed at first, shouting angrily at him but Yuuri ignored him, instead grabbing the boy’s hand and bringing it to the cloth so that he could hold it in place himself and he could go back to cleaning up the cooking area.

To his surprise, the boy did not protest any further, and sat by the fire in complete silence, watching him move around instead. There was not much to clean up, of course, but there were more than enough sheets and cloths that needed to be soaked in water first before they could be washed, and collecting them all and filling the washtub took some time.

Afterwards, he would bake some bread, for they had almost finished the loaves they had had. It was the first time he would make something for Viktor, and he was determined to do it well.

Once he was done with the laundry, he went back to the fireplace and knelt down beside Yuri, carefully pulling away the cloth to inspect his cheek. The swelling had already reduced significantly, only the redness had remained, and it would continue to hurt for a few more days. But it would no longer keep the boy from showing his face to the village, and fear being ridiculed by his peers.

“Much better,” Yuuri said softly and took the cloth away from him to soak it in the cold water once more. “Press that against your face for a little longer, and once more tonight before you go to bed. Understood?” He pointed at the cloth and mimicked being asleep.

Yuri stared at him for a moment, and Yuuri wondered if the boy would yell at him again. But he only snatched the cloth from his fingers and got up, walking to the door.

Yuuri smiled to himself and went back to work.

“Oi.”

Yuri stood at the door with a hand on the handle, the cloth pressed against his cheek.

“Spasibo,” he muttered, and then marched out of the house.

Yuuri did not know it yet, but that day, he had made a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Please check out my other fics as well!  
1\. Through the Eyes of a King  
2\. Whispers of the Days that Passed  
3\. A Rip in Time  
4\. Days In.... (Series)


	5. Far From the Home He Loves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shorter than the others - I have had horrible days at university and work so... I could not write much. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.
> 
> I have also added chapter titles now. 
> 
> Enter: Makkachin!

Over the course of the days that followed, Viktor noticed that something was wrong.

At first, there had been little that was different about Yuuri after the departure of his family. Naturally, having to say goodbye to them had been hard for his mate. Never before had he been without them, and it had taken Viktor only one look at Mari to know that the bond between her and Yuuri was a strong one, and that he would miss her terribly. Once Yuuri had wiped away his tears, Viktor had taken him on a tour through the village, introducing him to his friends and the other villagers, who all welcomed Yuuri warmly and with genuine kindness. That had been enough to distract his mate, it seemed, and they had spent the rest of the day together in blissful companionship, followed by another night of passionate mating.

For some reason Viktor did not quite understand, his brother had started to turn up at their doorstep every morning just to flop down on one of the furs by the fire and moan about the tasks their father or Yakov had given him for the day. It was as if their argument had never happened, yes, as if Yuri even felt genuinely sorry for insulting his brother’s mate – something Viktor highly doubted, for he knew his brother, and how stubborn he could be. But Yuuri seemed to enjoy Yuri’s company, and so, Viktor let him be. They might not have spoken each other’s language, but they got along fairly well.

It was only when Yuuri believed that no one could see him that Viktor noticed that something was off about him, that something was troubling him greatly.

But he could not ask him, for the language barrier between them was too big.

It would take Yuuri some time to become at least somewhat conversational in Russian, and until then, they would have to find different ways to communicate. It was easy, of course, to distinguish between ‘yes’ and ‘no’, and to point at things and mimic gestures in order to get through the day. Speaking about their feelings, and what they truly needed from one another, was an impossibility.

It was not that they did not try. Viktor would point out every single object in their home to Yuuri, having him repeat the words after him. And whilst Yuuri did a great job and managed to remember most of them, Viktor had to leave the main task of teaching him to his mother. Yelena had made Yuuri a part of her daily routine, taking him with her when she went to work alongside Priestess Lilia, and taught him the ways of housekeeping in the north. With her help, Yuuri managed to improve his language skills little by little, and when Viktor came to pick him up one evening at his parents’ home and was greeted with a soft “Let’s go home”, he had wanted to ravish Yuuri then and there.

Despite all of Yuuri’s achievements, however, Viktor could tell that his mate was not as happy and content as he seemed to be.

Viktor found out what it was when he returned from the shore one afternoon, the fish he had caught spiked on the small harpoon and ready to be shown off to his mate. Over the last few days, they had mainly eaten dried meat, but the ice had melted enough again for them to go fishing once more. All of the men in the village had come with him that day, joking around on the ice as they worked on it with their axes, knocking away piece after piece to get to the precious fish.

And so, Viktor pushed the door open with his free hand, putting on his best smile for his mate as he entered the hut. He was ready to call his name, pull him into his arms and show off his catch, as Yuuri’s name died on his tongue.

Their hut was empty to him, the fire abandoned.

“Yuuri?” He called softly, closing the door behind him and carefully leaning the spear of fish against the wall as a quiet, barely audible sob reached his ears, coming from the alcove where they kept their nest.

Never before had Viktor crossed the room so quickly, the fish and his pride entirely forgotten as he pushed the curtain aside in desperate search for his mate.

And what he found in their bed broke Viktor’s heart.

Yuuri had curled up in the farthest corner of the nest, buried under a pile of furs for comfort, and to hide away from the world. His eyes were red and swollen from crying, and in his hand, he gripped the heirloom that he had received from his mother, holding it close to his chest as his body was shaken by sobs.

“Yuuri…” Viktor whispered, crawling into their nest and towards Yuuri. The other man only briefly opened his eyes to look at him, only to avert his gaze and hide in the furs in what Viktor realised was shame – shame for his weakness, shame for crying in front of him, shame for missing his family.

Viktor had never felt so helpless before. He had never been good at dealing with crying people, no. Even handling his brother when Yura had been little had been too much, and comforting Georgi whenever his heart got broken anew was an eternally hopeless endeavour. But this was not just anyone that was crying before him. This was Yuuri, his mate.

But what was he to do to comfort him?

Kiss him, perhaps?

As it turned out, a kiss was not what Yuuri needed or wanted, for he pushed Viktor away as soon as he even tried to do so, hiding himself even further in the furs and trembling as he cried.

Well.

So much for that.

Viktor ran a hand through his hair, slowly beginning to panic. How was he supposed to help his mate if he could not even kiss him, let alone touch him in the first place? Not for the first time he cursed himself for not being able to speak any Japanese.

“Yuuri…” Viktor said softly, carefully reaching out to place his hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “I… I’m sorry.”

For a reason Viktor did not know, it was this that made Yuuri turn around again. Viktor knelt beside him patiently, waiting until Yuuri had fully gathered the courage to face him, and when he finally did, he carefully reached out to touch his cheek. That was something, Viktor had learnt, that Yuuri seemed to like very much.

His eyes fell onto the heirloom that Yuuri was still holding very tightly in his hands. It was a necklace, Viktor realised, beautifully carved from wood, with fine ornaments and symbols representing things he did not know of. But they surely meant a lot to Yuuri and his people, and gave him comfort in times like these.

“Wait here,” Viktor whispered and slipped out of their nest for a moment, hurrying over to the small box on the shelf and taking it back with him. Settling back on the furs beside Yuuri, who was watching him in both tiredness and confusion, he opened the box and carefully took out the brooch his mother had gifted him, as well as their wedding ribbon, and placed them both in Yuuri’s hands.

Yuuri stared at them for a moment, his beautiful, brown eyes filled with amazement and awe, and Viktor began to speak again. If there were any gods present, and if they had a heart, they would carry on his message to Yuuri.

“I know that you miss your family,” he said softly, looking down at their small collection of heirlooms. “And I could never replace them. I don’t even want to, for they are part of you. Just like my family is part of me. But…” He reached out to pick up their wedding ribbon, and gently wrapped it around Yuuri’s wrist and then around his own, hoping that at least this symbolism would be understood. “But even in your sadness, you will have me. And together, we will start our own family. No matter how big or small it will be or how long it takes us to do that.”

Yuuri was just looking at him, with those big, brown eyes that Viktor had immediately fallen in love with the moment he had first laid eyes upon the other man. Not a word came over his lips, but his hands came to touch the ribbon around his wrist, caressing it with his fingertips.

“You will always have me, Yuuri,” Viktor said softly and lowered his head to kiss Yuuri’s hair. “I cannot take away your homesickness, but I want to do everything I can to make it easier for you.”

And then, Yuuri curled up in Viktor’s arms, holding the heirlooms close to his chest as he cried quietly. Viktor wound his arms around him, holding him and protecting him from the world. If this was all he could do to help Yuuri, if this was all he could do to ease his pain, then he would hold him like this for the rest of his life.

That night, Yuuri slept closer to him than ever before, holding onto him as if Viktor were the only thing to keep him from drowning. And Viktor held him, whispering sweet nothings and promises of his love into his ear, begging that the gods would carry on his message to Yuuri.

* * *

The next morning, Viktor dropped Yuuri off at his mother’s hut and then immediately went to find his father.

Today, he was a man on a mission.

He found Nikita on the training grounds on the other side of the village, where he was leading a training session of their best warriors and hunters. Yura was there as well, sitting on a log and watching the men train, his own small spear resting on his lap. He briefly looked at Viktor as he saw him approaching, but soon returned his attention to the warriors sparring each other.

Nikita was in the midst of them, tall and proud, calling out orders and commands to his men with an authority in his voice that tolerated no dissent. Viktor knew being on the receiving end of his father’s orders far too well, and how strict and unforgiving he could be when it came to fighting. To some extent, Viktor could understand him. The north was harsh and dangerous enough to live in. They needed to have complete trust into each other when hunting together if they wanted to make it back home safely, and leave the forests in one piece. In the villages it was safe, but in the places beyond it was not.

“Quicker! You there, you have to move faster if you want to slay an elk!” Nikita barked at one of the men. “Do you want to be crushed?!”

“Got it!” The man shouted back and regained his posture, ready to try again.

Nikita nodded briefly, continuing with making his round across the training grounds as he spotted Viktor at the side, next to Yura. Viktor believed to see the annoyance flicker in his father’s eyes for a moment as he began to make his way over to him across the training grounds, moving out of the way of the sparring men with ease to get to his sire.

“What are you doing up here?” Nikita asked in greeting before barking at one of the younger men: “Hey! Do you want him to stab you? Keep your eyes open if you don’t want to bring shame to your mother, boy!”

Viktor was once more very much relieved to not be on the receiving end of his father’s orders for once, watching the teenage boy in question hold his spear tighter and focus on his sparring partner again.

“I need you to teach me Japanese, father,” Viktor said, trying to not look away as he met his father’s rather surprised gaze. “As much as you can.”

Nikita looked at him for a brief moment before calling to the others to keep practising without him for a while. He pushed his spear into the still rather frozen ground and crossed his arms, very much in the same way he always did when making decisions on behalf of the entire clan.

“We spoke about this,” Nikita said. “Yuuri is part of our clan now. Not the other way round. The sooner he learns Russian, the better.”

“And he will,” Viktor said quickly, taking a step forward. “I have absolutely no doubt that he will, father. But at the moment, Yuuri is upset, and he feels lonely. I just want to be a good husband to him and make him feel at home.”

“You know very well that there are other ways to calm an upset mate,” Nikita replied and raised an eyebrow, studying him suspiciously. “The physical union between a man and his mate is the safest way to forge an unbreakable bond that-“

“I know, and it’s not about that,” Viktor said and had to suppress a sigh, as well as not to roll his eyes at his father, which would have definitely ended with a slap to his face. But there was something so stubborn about his father that had always annoyed him, an inability to look beyond the traditions and ways of their clan. “There are no problems regarding that aspect of our marriage, father, really, I…”

“Then I don’t see the problem,” Nikita interrupted him firmly. 

_Of course you cannot,_ Viktor thought to himself.

He took a deep breath, trying a different strategy. “I want to do something nice for him, that’s all.”

Nikita was still looking at him suspiciously, but seemed a little more inclined to keep listening. Viktor took that as a good sign and continued to say: “I don’t want to become fluent in Japanese, of course. You are right, Yuuri should learn Russian instead, and he will. But if I knew how to say a few things… _certain _things,” he corrected himself and earned a knowing look from his father, “then I’m sure Yuuri would feel less isolated for now, and become encouraged to learn Russian quicker.”

That was a blatant lie, of course, for he would never expect of Yuuri to become an expert in their language so quickly. But if his father believed that he wanted to use Japanese to lure Yuuri into their nest, and get an heir out of him quicker, then perhaps he would be willing to help him.

Nikita let out a small sigh. “I don’t have time to teach you,” he said, picking up the spear again and stretching his back muscles. “Go and ask your mother if it is so important to you.”

Viktor nodded and watched his father walk away to join his men again, only starting to grin when he could be sure his father could not see him. If his father approved of it, then his mother would not dismiss him.

And even if it was just little she would be able to teach him – it would be at least something.

“Why are you so fucking happy,” Yura demanded to know as Viktor walked past him again.

“I can’t tell you, I’m afraid, for you are far too young to hear such things,” Viktor said with a wink. “Hey, where is Makkachin? I want to take her home now.”

“With Yakov,” Yura replied. “I couldn’t keep her in the house. Father doesn’t want her around. Thinks she’s too tame for a dog.”

Viktor rolled his eyes at that. But of course this was something his father would disapprove of. Makkachin was not meant to come hunting with him, anyway. No, he had received her as a gift from Yakov when he had been but a child, and she had been with him ever since. For the first few days of their marriage, he had not wanted to keep her at home, because she would have only disturbed him and his mate. But now, it was time to take her home, and introduce her to his Yuuri.

With bouncy steps he made his way down the hill from the training grounds to the village, heading straight to the hut of Lilia and Yakov. It was the one house that he always entered without knocking – ever since he had been a child, he had been most welcome there, Yakov having taken over the role of his father when Nikita had been away. From Yakov, he had learnt everything he needed to know – not just for daily life, or for his future role as his clan leader. From Yakov, he had learnt to think critically about things, to question what did not seem right, and to hold his head high with righteous pride. And whilst Yakov and Lilia were not exactly what he would have called an ideal couple, he had to admit that if people that were so different from another as these two were could stay together, then he could do the same.

Georgi was home as well, arguing with his father over something as Viktor came in. His favourite girl lay by the fire, her ears twitching as Viktor entered, and she let out a happy bark at his sight, jumping right into his arms.

“Oh thank God, you are taking her home,” Georgi said with a relieved sigh. “She’s been trying to climb into my bed.”

Viktor laughed. “Oh, my girl just wanted some good cuddles, right, Makka?” He ruffled her fur and gave her a few kisses.

“I hope Yuuri gets just half of the affection,” Georgi remarked dryly.

“I want to introduce him to her now,” Viktor announced proudly as he kept rubbing Makkachin’s belly. “I think they will get along very well.”

“How is he settling in?” Lilia asked from where she was sorting herbs on a straw mat.

Viktor took a seat by the fire, holding Makkachin close to scratch her behind the ear. “He’s… a little homesick,” he told his aunt. “I think it frustrates him that he does not speak Russian and it’s rather difficult for him to learn.”

“But he is making rapid progress,” Lilia said. “Your mother does everything she can to help him with the language. Although I do wonder why you did not try to learn some Japanese from her or your father.”

Viktor sighed. “Can you imagine what my father said when I asked him to?” He asked, looking at Yakov.

His uncle only huffed. “I can. Stubborn idiot.”

Viktor chuckled softly. Indeed, Yakov was the only one who ever openly criticised Nikita. Being allowed to do so only because he was his brother.

“I will try nonetheless,” Viktor said then. “Even if it is just a few words. It will surely ease his homesickness a little when he hears his own language.”

Lilia nodded. “I approve of this, Viktor. That is very considerate of you.”

“But don’t forget your other duties over your mate,” Yakov reminded him. “Remember that the next big hunt is coming up. You will be needed there to lead one of the three groups. Gosha here will lead one, too.”

“Really?” Viktor beamed at his cousin. “That’s the first time you will do that, right?”

Georgi nodded, scratching the back of his head with a small smile. “I’m… I’m not sure if I’m that good, though, but your father said that I’m ready.”

“Of course you are!” Viktor said with a determined nod. “I’ve seen you handle the spear. You have a great talent there, Georgi, trust in yourself!”

“Listen to Vitya,” Yakov said and rose from the fire, patting his son’s shoulder for a moment as he walked past him. “Viktor, you should prepare for the big hunt as well. You were successful last time, but this year you will have a few new ones in your group. Dimitri and his brother, too.”

Georgi let out a whistle at that. “I really don’t pity you there, Viktor,” he said and got up as well, stretching and grabbing his spear from where it leant against the wall by the door. “Alright, then. Let’s practise some more before it gets real. Are you coming too?” He asked Viktor, looking at his cousin expectantly.

“Not this time, Gosha,” Viktor said, ruffling Makkachin’s fur and earning delighted whines in return. “Hey, Makka, do you want to meet the love of my life?”

Makkachin barked loudly and jumped to her feet.

* * *

“Yelena, there is only little stinging nettle left,” Yuuri called to his mother-in-law, looking at her over his shoulder and holding up the small, almost empty pot.

“Oh?” Yelena rose from the fire and walked over to the cupboard Yuuri was looking through, peeking into the little jar. “Yes, you are right. Ah, too sad. We cannot pick it now.”

“Where do you usually get it from?” Yuuri asked.

“Oh, we pick it in the forest,” Yelena said and took the jar from him to add the remaining herbs to the brew they were working on. “But now, earth is frozen. No plants in it. We wait until we have warm sun again.”

Yuuri nodded and followed her to the fire again, kneeling down on the straw mat beside her to watch her work. Yelena was skilled with herbs, just like his own mother was, but there was a lot that he could still learn from her. There were many plants and herbs in the north that were unknown in the south, and it was important for Yuuri that he learnt how to use them. After all, he would take Yelena’s place in the village one day – and although this day was still very far away, Yuuri was determined to learn as much from her as possible.

Yelena was lovely, and Yuuri had quickly grown to like her. She was kind and warm-hearted, and although her language skills were far from perfect, she tried her best to teach him. In many ways, she was just like Viktor – they had the same kind of humour, and whenever she smiled, Yuuri believed to be looking at his husband.

Just like the other villagers, she was hardworking, despite her privileged position in the clan as Nikita’s wife. Yuuri learnt that traditionally, the leader’s mate was also the healer, and although Lilia had healing skills too, it was mainly Yelena who took care of the sick and the elderly. This task made up most of her day, and Yuuri had begun to accompany her. Some days were spent in other people’s homes entirely, others were filled with sorting through herbs and preparing mixtures to have them available when they would be needed.

But what Yuuri enjoyed the most about spending time with his mother-in-law was that through her, he learnt the traditions and ways of his new home in a setting where he could feel welcome, and actually understand what was being said to him.

“How is Viktor?” Yelena asked as she stirred in the pot on the fire. She would ask him this every morning when he came to her home, and would expect Yuuri to reply to her in Russian. Her method seemed to work, for Yuuri managed to say more and more with every day that passed.

“He is good,” Yuuri replied in slow Russian, earning a soft smile from the woman. “Sleep i- was good.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Yelena said in Russian before switching to Japanese again. “And in bed?”

Yuuri almost dropped the pot he had been holding. “I-In bed?” He repeated and blushed deeply.

Yelena raised an eyebrow, looking at him expectantly. “Yes,” she said. “Is mating good with him? He treat you good?”

Yuuri could not believe that he was actually discussing this with his mother-in-law. He shivered, looking down at his lap. “Very good, yes,” he murmured, avoiding to look her in the eye.

“Ah, that is good,” Yelena said with a satisfied nod. “You tell me if not. Mating is important, you know?”

“I know,” Yuuri mumbled, thinking back to what the priestess had said at their wedding feast, and what mating meant for a couple. To have children, and to please the gods.

“No, you don’t know,” Yelena said and shook her pretty head. “Mating is not just making a baby. Mating is more. Mating is…” She paused for a moment and let go of the scoop, searching for the right words and running a hand through her hair. “Mating is when you and him are one. When there is all in you. Right here.” She put her hands on her belly. “You feel complete. You feel kiss of the gods. You learn of him. And he learn of you.”

There was a longing in her voice that sent shivers down Yuuri’s spine. Oh, he knew very well what she meant – he had felt it before in Viktor’s embrace, each time they had mated, and he had never wanted to let go.

“It is like light,” Yelena said softly, a small smile on her youthful face. “Light in here.” She touched her chest, right above her heart. “And you feel the light. When you look at him, you have light in there. Even when he is gone, you have the light in you.” She averted her gaze, looking down at the bubbling mixture in the pot on the fire, and Yuuri could not help but notice the sadness in her eyes.

“Nikita and I were not together for long time,” she said. “Viktor and I were far away. Slaves of cruel people. But I always feel the light, here,” she gently patted her chest. “I feel the light, and I know my mate is there in the world. Not dead. And when you close your eyes, you feel the light, and you feel Viktor. That is what mating is.”

Yuuri did not know what to say, for he had never heard someone, let alone Viktor nor Yelena, speak of their past before. He had never dared to ask, and he was also not able to due to the language difficulties. But he understood all of what Yelena was telling him, understood what she meant by the light in her heart, for he could feel this very special kind of warmth, too, whenever he thought of Viktor. And it was not just there during their mating.

He could feel it right now, warm and tender, tucked away in his heart.

“I understand,” Yuuri said quietly, absentmindedly touching his chest.

Yelena smiled approvingly. “See. This is why mating is holy. Gift from the gods. And this is why violence is forbidden.” Before Yuuri could even see her move, she had taken his hands firmly into her own, and he had no choice but to look her in the eye. “If Viktor treat you badly, you tell me,” she said in a low voice. “He force you to mate, you fight. You fight like a snow tiger. You kick and scratch and bite and shout, Yuuri. You scream, Yuuri, you promise me. Promise me you fight, Yuuri.”

“I…” Yuuri breathed, staring at his mother-in-law in utter shock. “But Viktor would never do this, Yelena, he is kind to me! He would never-“

“Do you know?” Yelena asked sharply, her fingers digging into his wrists. “No. You don’t know. Because man don’t know, too. They think they are good, but all men can become bad. Even my Nikita, even my Viktor, even my Yura.”

She spoke with such fire, such passion and determination that Yuuri did not dare to speak up again. There had to be something behind her words, a meaning he did not understand yet, but whatever it was, it shocked him that she seemed to think of her own husband, and her own sons, as potential threats.

Finally, Yelena let go of his wrists again, and continued to stir the mixture in the pot. “Mating with force is forbidden,” she said, quieter now, but still as serious. “A man that forces his mate will be punished. His mate decide how.” She met his gaze, a bitter smile on her lips. “You can think of punishment for rape, Yuuri? I can. Make a man bleed for it.”

Yuuri looked at the pot on the fire, unable to meet her gaze any further. Thinking back to his days at home with his parents, he remembered that every now and then, the women of the village had come to his mother with bruises on their faces or shoulders. Others had cried in his mother’s arms about their husbands, and in moments like these, his mother had always sent him out.

Things were truly different in the north.

Only as he heard something like a bark behind him he was pulled out of his thoughts, and before he could fully turn around to see what it was, he found himself thrown to the ground and something heavy and very soft above him – licking over his face.

“Makka, nyet!” He heard his husband call, just before the fluffy creature was pulled off him and a pair of hands embraced him.

Viktor smiled down at him apologetically and fixed his hair quickly as he helped Yuuri to stand. “I’m sorry,” he said, and Yuuri’s heart fluttered at the fact he was able to understand that. “Yuuri, this is Makkachin. Makkachin, Yuuri— nyet, Makka, nyet!” But the dog had already jumped on Yuuri again, who had been prepared this time, and the dog barked excitedly, wagging its tail in excitement.

“Hello, Makkachin,” Yuuri laughed and petted the dog. “Pretty Makkachin.”

Viktor beamed at him. “Yuuuuri! That was—” Whatever it was Yuuri could not understand, but it must have been something very good, for Viktor promptly pulled him into his arms and kissed him. Yuuri squeaked in surprise, blushing deeply as they were right next to Yelena. But the woman merely gave them an amused smile and kept stirring in the pot.

“Makkachin is Viktor’s dog,” she explained when both master and dog had calmed down again. “She is his friend. You like dogs, Yuuri?”

Yuuri nodded softly, still a little overwhelmed by Viktor’s kiss. “I like them very much. I had… I had one like Makkachin, but smaller.”

“Eh?” Viktor asked impatiently, waiting for his mother to translate. His face immediately lit up at the news, and ruffled Makkachin’s fur affectionately. Makkachin barked happily, looking up at Yuuri as if to ask when he was going to play with him. Yuuri granted the dog her wish and knelt down to pet her properly. The dog was absolutely gorgeous, albeit very different from the ones he had seen in the north so far. Perhaps she had been a present.

“Is she…” Yuuri began in Russian, causing Viktor to look at him attentively. “Is Makkachin… uh… is she a hunting dog?” He asked Yelena, hoping for her help. Yelena translated for her son, and Viktor laughed, shaking his head.

“Makkachin? No. Makka is-“ And once more, Yuuri completely lost track of what Viktor was saying to him – and it frustrated Yuuri to no end. Fortunately, Yelena noticed, and she translated back.

“Makkachin is too nice for hunting,” she answered with a laugh, and as a response, Makkachin rested her head on Yuuri’s lap and looked up at him with the most innocent eyes he had ever seen. “But hunt is soon,” Yelena added. “Big hunt. Important for Viktor. He lead one group.” It was obvious that she was very proud, for she reached out for her son and squeezed his shoulder gently.

“Oh, that is… that is good!” Yuuri said in Russian and smiled at his husband. “Very good?”

“Very good!” Yelena confirmed. “Great honour for Viktor. He is now a man. And Georgi has group, too. Hunt is when night is not long.”

“I see,” Yuuri nodded. “Is there a reason for the hunt?”

“Yes. We hunt big elk. They feed our village. One group, one elk,” Yelena explained.

Viktor wrapped an arm around Yuuri’s waist and gave it a soft squeeze, a few tender, Russian words rolling off his tongue as he looked at Yuuri full of admiration.

Yelena chuckled. “He will lay fur of elk to your foot. Is for honour. And great respect for mate.”

Yuuri blushed madly and could barely look his husband in the eye. But it was such a sweet gesture, and seemed to be such an important thing to the northerners, that Yuuri could not help but be moved by Viktor’s promise.

“Spasibo,” he said softly, and Viktor’s face lit up again at that.

“Ah, Yuuri,” he said and leant forward to kiss him gently. Yuuri blushed even more, wanting to kiss him back, but by the gods, how could he possibly do so in front of his mother-in-law? And how could Viktor do it so easily?

Perhaps this was another difference between their people – the way they showed affection.

“Now go home,” Yelena said, gesturing at the door. “Be happy. Make baby.”

“Mama!” Viktor called out and blushed as well – apparently, this was a word universally understood. But Yelena only laughed, and Yuuri pulled Viktor with him to his feet.

“Makkachin?” Yuuri said, and the dog barked, jumping up to follow them out of the hut.

Viktor had never seemed more delighted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	6. To Know You Means to Love You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who quit her most annoying class because life is too short?  
Dis gurl.

Slowly, they settled into their new life.

Married life meant different things for each of them. For Yuuri, being married was still something he could barely grasp, could barely believe – he had always been sure that he would remain alone and serve his sister as a warrior. After all, sacred ones like him did not have the best reputation among the clans, and even at home, he had been treated with caution once they had learnt of his true nature. And yet – here he was, married. To a man that he barely knew, but already so dearly loved.

For this was what it was, there was no other explanation that seemed plausible. Viktor was the first thing on his mind in the mornings, and the last person he thought of before falling asleep. Viktor was gentle and kind, and treated him as if he were the only thing that mattered in the world. His kisses were tender and loving, and his touch was something Yuuri yearned for all day long, only to lose himself in Viktor’s arms once they retired for the night.

A life without Viktor now seemed impossible.

For Viktor, getting married had always been only a matter of time. As the son of Nikita, it was expected of him to marry, settle down, and prove himself a man by fathering children. But being a man that had no love for women, it had been difficult for his parents to find even potential matches for him – and Viktor knew that his preferences had been the cause of many sleepless nights for his mother. That they had found someone for him at all had been close to a miracle. And not just that, but a sacred one, too.

Not that this part mattered to Viktor.

It was Yuuri, and only Yuuri, that mattered to him.

Each morning, he would wake up with his mate in his arms – and Viktor found that his favourite pastime was to watch Yuuri wake: how he would sniff and hide his face in Viktor’s chest, refusing to wake from his slumber. Viktor would then kiss him awake, first his hair, then his neck, then his shoulder, until Yuuri would let out a gentle whine and open his beautiful, brown eyes still small with sleep. They would kiss for some more, and make love to each other until it was time to leave their nest.

After breakfast, their ways would part. Viktor was training the young boys of the village, including his brother, preparing them to become the next generation of proud northern warriors. Yuuri would take care of their home, meet with Yelena and help her with her work around the village, and prepare dinner.

His bow had not been touched since their wedding day.

It was not that Yuuri was unhappy with his life – he knew how fortunate he was to have a husband. But he missed going out into the forest to hunt, to feel the ground under his feet and hear the crunching leaves. To smell the forest after rain.

But none of this was part of the life expected of him.

A mate, Yuuri had learnt from Yelena, had many duties, most of them revolving around the home. His duty was to keep the house, to be there for Viktor, to support him, to fight for him, to care for him, to bear children for him. Thinking about it, Yuuri found that these expectations were not so different from what he knew. In the light of the laws of the northern clans, however, he found that his status was a very different one – for he was not only regarded Viktor’s mate, but Viktor’s property.

That was, according to Yelena, a means to ensure a mate’s protection. Life in the north was harsh and unforgiving, and marriage and therefore belonging to a man saved a mate from shame and unwanted attention. Yuuri had replied that being something to be owned was hardly an appropriate means to excuse the behaviour of a brute, and to his surprise, Yelena had agreed.

This law gave Viktor no right to treat Yuuri as he pleased – not that Yuuri would have been worried about that anyway. It merely meant that Yuuri stood under Viktor’s protection, and had to follow his command when it was meant to protect him. Otherwise, Yuuri was as free as anyone else, and enjoyed privileges that not even the women at his home had had. Not only was he the mate of the future clan leader – he was, by tradition, the one to have the last word in issues regarding their home, and their children. He was in charge of the finances, and by law, Viktor would have to hand over all riches to him to manage. He was the one who would always get the first sip of wine, the first cut of meat, and the first slice of bread in their house.

Viktor, Yuuri learnt, might have been the one to represent them to the rest of the world, but in their home, it was _he_ who was in charge.

In their hearts, however, they were equal to one another.

And neither Viktor nor Yuuri would have wanted it any other way.

The final proof that Viktor felt for Yuuri just as Yuuri felt for him came sixteen days after their wedding, in the early hours of the morning. A sharp pain flashing through his stomach had woken Yuuri, and he instinctively curled up into a ball, wrapping his arms around his middle. Had he eaten too much the night before? Viktor had brought him something to eat from his aunt Lilia, a hearty stew of which they had both taken more than just one serving, for it had been so incredibly good. Now, it seemed to take its revenge.

Carefully, Yuuri freed himself from Viktor’s gentle grasp and moved to the edge of their nest to get out and relieve himself as he felt the wetness between his legs, and saw the red on the furs.

“N-No…” Yuuri breathed and pressed his hands against his stomach, eyes widening as he found only flatness there, the gentle swell of his belly having vanished into thin air. “No, no, please, no…” He cried, tears filling his eyes as the realisation washed over him.

He had failed to do what he was supposed to do – had failed to fulfil his only duty, and had brought shame and disappointment to his husband.

“Yuuri?” Viktor stirred behind him, his voice heavy with sleep as he sat up in search for his mate.

Yuuri shook his head, tightly wrapping his arms around his stomach and shaking his head over and over again. No, he did not want Viktor to see him like this, to see his failure.

But it was of no use. Viktor paused as he saw the blood on the furs, and Yuuri braced himself for the inevitable. He was sure that now, Viktor would finally see what he was, nothing but a failure, and throw him out of their nest.

Instead, it was a pair of arms that embraced him from behind, and Yuuri felt a kiss on his hair.

“Milyi?” Viktor’s voice was quiet and gentle, almost cautious, as if he were not sure what to say.

But then again, neither was Yuuri.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to whisper, the only sentence in Russian he could remember right now. It was barely enough to show what he felt, how terribly sorry he was, how ashamed he felt.

Viktor kissed his temple. “Yuuri, milyi…” He sighed, his hand coming to rest on top of Yuuri’s on his stomach. “Da-daijoubu desu…”

“It’s not okay!” Yuuri cried in Japanese, shaking his head vigorously and tried to free himself from Viktor’s grasp, but Viktor did not let him go, held onto him, held him close to his chest, held him until Yuuri gave up his fight.

“Milyi,” Viktor said gently, running his hand through Yuuri’s hair. “Kireina Yuuri. My Yuuri.”

Yuuri sniffed, still clutching his stomach, mourning the loss of what he had proudly carried inside him since their wedding night, and what he had now lost. He had been so convinced, so sure, that he would have Viktor’s child in no time, and show that he was worth it. That he was a good choice. That he was not useless.

Viktor gently kissed his temple and then pulled away from Yuuri, slipping out of their nest. Yuuri swallowed thickly, watching as Viktor took his hands and kissed his knuckles.

“Let me help,” he said, a sentence Yuuri knew only too well, for it was the one that Viktor seemed to say the most. And so, he could only sit and watch as his husband rose to his feet and went to pour some water into the pot on the fire to warm it up. Next, he went to get a clean cloth and once the water was warm, he soaked the cloth in it wrung it out before returning to Yuuri’s side.

“You… or me?” He asked softly.

Yuuri snatched the cloth from Viktor’s hand, his face burning in shame that Viktor was witnessing it all. Viktor, however, seemed entirely unfazed by it. Instead, he kissed Yuuri’s forehead and grabbed the stained fur from their nest, carrying it outside, and giving Yuuri some privacy.

Yuuri closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, able to think clearly now that he was alone. He had expected Viktor to do many things, to push him away, or to openly express his disappointment, but none of that had happened.

Instead, Viktor chose to give him some time alone.

Yuuri pressed his hand against his flat stomach, wincing as he felt his stomach cramp painfully once more, another clear proof that Viktor’s seed was leaving his body for good – that he was not having his child. He had been so sure that it would work. After all, they had done little else but mate since they had gotten married. 

But there was nothing he could show for it.

With the cloth that Viktor had given him, Yuuri wiped the blood away from his thighs, and then went to search the soft cotton he had brought with him. It would soak up the blood and save both his clothes and the furs in their nest. He worked quickly, not wanting Viktor to walk into him when he took care of himself. Once that was done, he grabbed his purse with herbs and knelt down by the fire to prepare the mixture his mother had taught him many years ago, something to ease the pain and make the bleeding pass quicker.

Viktor came back after a while, his cheeks reddened from the cold outside. He said nothing as he sat down beside Yuuri and placed his hand on his back, looking at him worriedly, as if to ask if he was okay. Yuuri merely nodded, trying to focus on his task as he grinded the herbs into powder and put them into the water. Next, he grabbed one of the flat stones they kept by the fireplace to fry meat on, and placed it directly in the flames to heat it up. Wrapped in a fur, he would later hold it against his belly, to ease the cramps that tormented him.

Viktor sat beside him, not saying a word, merely watching and looking utterly helpless. Each time Yuuri paused to hold his stomach and breathe through the pain, he would reach out for him, desperate to help him in any way, but there was little that he, as a man, could do about it. To see his mother deal with bleeding and pain was one thing – to watch his own mate, however, was pure torture.

* * *

After drinking the terribly smelling mixture Yuuri had made, he had immediately retired to bed again, and Viktor had followed him there, holding and kissing him, assuring him over and over again that everything was fine.

But Yuuri would not understand a word of it, for the language barrier between them was still far too great. And so, Viktor had simply held him, and had tenderly caressed his waist, until Yuuri had drifted off to sleep again.

Viktor, however, had been unable to find sleep after that.

Seeing Yuuri so upset at the sight of his blood, seeing him so afraid of his reaction that he had not even dared to look him in the eye, had shaken Viktor to the core. Of course, it was sad that despite their mating, the gods had not given them their blessing – but was it not normal for a young couple like them? Was it not common for newlyweds that it took some time to conceive a child? Was the blood not a sign that Yuuri, being a sacred one, was healthy, and fertile nonetheless?

That there was pressure resting on their shoulders, Viktor could not deny. After all, the stories told at their wedding feast had circulated around this very topic. This was what they had both been told the whole time – that their duty before the gods was to mate and to bring forth children to fulfil the prophecy. And what a prophecy it was! It was one neither of them truly understood, not even their priestesses had proper answers for them.

What were they supposed to do, besides uniting wolves and lynxes?

What was it that the gods had planned for them, for their future?

No matter what it was – the last thing Viktor wanted was for Yuuri to feel guilty about anything. Yuuri was a miracle, he was convinced, sent to him by the gods as the missing piece to his soul – and by the Heavens, did he love him.

There was no other word for what he felt. He loved Yuuri, deeply and fiercely, and he would love and protect him in this life and into the next.

Viktor left their hut after sunrise, leaving his mate warm and safe in their nest under the furs. Before leaving, he had placed their wedding ribbon in Yuuri’s open palm, to make sure his mate knew when he woke up without him at his side that he was loved, and that Viktor would never neglect him.

His way took him to his parents’ hut on the other side of the village. It was the largest of them all, of course, with rich ornaments decorating its frames. It was where he and Yuuri would live one day, when his father was in the embrace of the gods. But that day was still far away, and for now, Viktor preferred not to think of such a time.

The door was open, for his younger brother was outside and collected some wood for the fire. Upon seeing Viktor, Yuri nodded in greeting.

“What’s that face,” he asked when Viktor came closer. “Something wrong with Katsudon?”

“Who?” Viktor asked, frowning and stopping in his tracks.

“Your mate,” Yuri replied gruffly. “He told Mama that his mother used to make that for him. It’s his favourite food. Like, pork and this rice stuff they have…” He shrugged.

“Yura, what is taking you so long?” Their mother called, appearing in the doorframe a moment later.

“Oh, good morning, Vitya,” she said in surprise, wiping her hands on her dress. “Is something wrong?” She looked at him cautiously, studying his face attentively before her gaze flickered at his and Yuuri’s hut on the other side of the settlement.

Viktor glanced at his younger brother, not sure if he should address these things in front of him.

Yuri groaned. “I’m not a kid, okay?” He sighed. “If you’re having problems getting it up then-“

Yelena slapped her youngest son across the face without hesitation and pushed him back into the house before facing Viktor again. “Come. Let us talk inside.”

Viktor nodded and followed his mother into the home of his childhood, glad to be out of the cold once more. It was as warm and cosy there as it had always been, with his father’s weapons and countless gifts from other clans decorating the walls. Soft furs had been put around the fireplace to sit on, and in the back of the hut, he could hear the soft snoring of his father.

“Sit with your mother, come,” Yelena said and knelt down by the fire before shooting a warning glance at Yuri, who had curled up in his preferred corner with his cat Potya on his lap. He rolled his eyes and looked away; a safe sign he would keep his mouth shut for now.

Viktor sat down beside her and ran a hand through his hair, trying to think of the right words. “Yuuri is… Yuuri is bleeding, Mama,” he said quietly. “I mean, he’s having his-“

“I know what you mean,” Yelena interrupted him calmly before her eyes became dark. “If you wish to divorce him because he is not with child then I am ashamed of calling you my-“

“No, no, of course not!” Viktor called out and raised his hands in defence. Yelena still eyed him cautiously, but nodded so that he might continue.

Viktor dropped his hands again. “I’m worried because he is in such pain, Mama,” he explained quietly. “He bends over and clutches his stomach and whimpers, and I can’t do anything about it.”

“Who is in pain?” Asked a sleepy voice from behind his mother. Nikita had climbed out of bed, woken by their talking, yawning as he walked over to the fire and greeting his son with a nod. “Shouldn’t you be at home?”

“Yuuri is not feeling well,” Yelena explained without looking at her husband, keeping her eyes fixed on Viktor. “This is a natural process, dear. Pain and blood are what is to be expected for us. And it is not the first time he is going through it.”

“I know, but-“

“Yuuri is having his blood?” Nikita asked, sitting down by the fire beside his wife and casting a glance at his son that Viktor could hardly interpret. “Well. That is unfortunate, of course. But a mate’s blood is a clear sign that despite the-“

“Nikita,” Yelena said sharply and glanced at her husband. “Shut your mouth.”

Both Viktor and Yuri tensed at their mother’s words, looking at their father as the seconds passed. It was seldom that their mother, devoted and submissive as she was to their father, ever told him off, especially in front of them.

For a long moment, it was quiet in the hut, their parents looking at each other in what Viktor would have called a challenging way if it had been different people than his parents. But what he saw was more a silent understanding, and authority that came not from Nikita, but from his wife.

Nikita turned away and busied himself with the food, as if nothing had happened at all.

Yelena returned her attention to Viktor. “Tell me, dear, has he everything he needs? Something against the pain? A hot stone? Is he comfortable?”

Viktor nodded. “He made himself some mixture with the herbs he got from his mother,” he said. “And a hot stone, too. I made sure he has everything he needs, and took him back to bed. He is sleeping now…”

Yelena nodded once. “Then there is nothing more you can do for him.”

“But Mama-“

“I know it is difficult to watch your mate suffer, Vitya,” she said softly and touched his hand. “But this is the course of nature. The gods have decided it for you. Yuuri has entered a sacred time where he is the closest to the goddess of the moon. Her blood is in his veins, and now, she is taking what is hers. As it was foretold, and how it always has been.”

Viktor bowed his head, looking at his lap. Of course, he knew all of this, that it was normal, and that it was not up to them to decide if the gods blessed them or not. And yet…

“You should have seen him, Mama,” he said quietly, looking at her again. “He was so upset. He… he did not even dare to look at me, and when he did, it was as if he expected me to be angry with him. How could I possibly be angry with him, Mama? How?” His voice broke, and he averted his gaze.

Yelena took Viktor’s hands into her own and gave them a gentle squeeze. “Your compassion shows what a good husband you are, Viktor,” she said. “And how highly you think of your mate.”

“But what good is it if Yuuri thinks I might strike him for being what he is?” Viktor asked desperately.

“I believe that Yuuri has put a lot of pressure on himself,” Yelena replied calmly. “And how could he not, being in a foreign land, amongst people he neither knows nor understands? You are the one he has to turn to, the one person he can hold onto. He is surely afraid of disappointing you, of losing you. All because he is not with child.” She sighed, glancing at her husband. “I suppose we are to blame for this, too. Aren’t we, Nika?”

Nikita cleared his throat, stirring in the pot on the fire. “I cannot deny that we have put a rather heavy emphasis on these matters,” he said without meeting his wife’s gaze.

“You did, yes,” Yelena said sharply. “And indeed,” she looked back at Viktor. “We might have given Yuuri the impression that the weight of the world is resting on his shoulders. That was never our intention. We did not want to cause such unrest in both of your hearts, dear.”

“I wish I could talk to him, truly,” Viktor mumbled. “All we have is gestures and a handful of words that do not even come close to what I want to say.”

Yelena exchanged another glance with her husband.

“You know,” she said softly, a small smile on her lips. “There might just be a solution to that.”

“Huh?”

“You will see.”

More Viktor did not learn of his mother that day. Instead, he went back to their hut with mixed feelings – still concerned for Yuuri, but reassured by his mother that he had been doing his best, and that all they could do now was to wait.

Yelena had given him more advice before sending him off – how to take care of Yuuri during this time, and what to consider. And to remember, first and foremost, that Yuuri’s blood was not about him. That this sacred time of bleeding was Yuuri’s time only, and that he had to hold himself back, and remain humble. That instead, he should thank the goddess of the moon for giving him a healthy mate, and for so clearly showing them that Yuuri was in her favour.

Yuuri sat by the fire when Viktor returned that morning, wrapped into a fur and watching the flames dance around the stone he had put in the fire again. Upon Viktor entering, he briefly looked up, only to lower his gaze in shame again.

Viktor closed the distance between them and knelt down beside him, kissing him firmly on the lips.

“My Yuuri,” he said softly. “Everything is good. Daijoubu desu.” It was a phrase he had learnt from his mother, and never had it been so helpful as it was now. For Yuuri at least understood the gist of what he was trying to say.

“But I’m sorry,” Yuuri said quietly, touching his stomach. “No… no baby.”

“No baby,” Viktor confirmed. “That is okay. Daijoubu desu.”

Yuuri sniffed, and Viktor wiped away the single tear that rolled down his mate’s cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice breaking, and Viktor rushed to pull him into his arms.

“No, Yuuri, no, don’t be sorry,” he said, kissing Yuuri’s hair “No baby is okay. You are okay. I am okay. Don’t be sorry.”

He pulled away again just enough to cup Yuuri’s cheeks and look him in the eye. “Don’t be sorry, milyi,” he whispered and kissed him again. “Okay?”

As limited as their ways of communicating were – they understood each other, needed only to look the other one in the eye to know what they tried to say. These few words were enough for now, and although there was so much more that Viktor wanted to say, it was good enough for the moment.

Yuuri nodded and buried his face in Viktor’s chest, curling up in his arms as he searched in them for comfort. Viktor held him close, gently rubbing his belly. It could also ease the pain, his mother had said – and the quiet purr that he received from his mate in return told him that the gesture was not unwelcome.

That was how they sat for the morning, holding each other and warming themselves at the fire. Yuuri fell asleep again after some time, with no distress on his face this time as Viktor carried him back to their nest and tucked him in. Bleeding would make him tired, Yelena had said, and Viktor would make sure he was as comfortable as possible during this time. And he would stay with him, regardless of what his father thought of it.

Rebellion had never felt so good.

* * *

Yuuri bled for four days.

The herbs his mother had given him had worked their magic, and had eased the pain significantly. But they had also made him tired, and so, he had spent most of the time in bed, resting and mourning the loss of the child he had thought to have. Viktor was always there, taking care of him, feeding him, talking to him, kissing him. Yuuri was fairly sure that he was not supposed to spend all of this time with him, but no one came to tell them off.

When Yuuri finally left the bed again and stepped outside, he found that the snow that had covered the village and the surrounding land had decreased significantly. According to Yelena, who had visited them that day, this meant that spring was just around the corner, and with it, the great hunt.

They were surprised by snow once more, however, just a few days later. A fresh, thick layer had come over them overnight, burying the village under it. That, too, was normal, he was told, for this was simply the nature of the north.

And together with the snow came an unexpected visitor.

Yuuri was returning from an afternoon spent with Yelena as he heard Viktor talk animatedly to someone in their home. He sounded excited, happy, and laughed heartily at something. Then, the other person responded – a woman’s voice, high and clear and with good humour. She laughed too, her voice even drowning out Viktor’s. And then they laughed again, the way old friends do, and Yuuri was not sure if he should interrupt Viktor and his guest.

But before he could decide to turn around and walk back, he had already been noticed by his husband.

“Ah! Yuuri!” Viktor called and rose from his fur by the fire, walking over to the door and pulling him into his arms. “Yuuri, look!”

They turned around to their guest, and Yuuri found himself facing a young woman. She was about his height, with fair skin and the most magnificent head of red hair that he had ever seen. It was shorter than the hair of most women, just going down to her chin. And even her dress was different – long, of good material, with a belt and small bags attached to it.

The woman smiled at him, and reached out to take his hands.

“You must be Yuuri!” She laughed, and Yuuri’s eyes widened as he realised that she spoke in Japanese – accentuated, but clear. “I was dying to meet you! My name is Mila!”

“N-Nice to meet you too,” Yuuri said breathlessly and exchanged a questioning glance with his husband, who only beamed happily at him. “You… You speak Japanese?”

“I do!” Mila said with a grin. “I learnt it in the south during my travels. I went there to study, you see. I’m a healer and midwife.”

“Ah,” Yuuri nodded. That explained her clothing. “And you are from here?”

“I’m from a village up further north,” she said. “But Viktor and I are good friends, so now that I’m back, I’ll settle in this village. Someone has to keep an eye on that idiot, but I think he’s in the very best hands with you.” She winked, and Yuuri began to laugh, knowing very well what she meant.

“Hey,” Viktor frowned, obviously not pleased that he was being talked about in a language he did not understand. But Mila just barked a few words at him and patted Viktor’s head, as if he were her little brother and not the future clan leader.

“I just told him that it is unbelievable he did not learn Japanese for you,” Mila said and took Yuuri by the arm, leading him to the fire and ignoring Viktor completely.

“He tried,” Yuuri explained. “But Yelena said that his father said no. That I should learn Russian instead.”

Mila huffed. “Oh. That Nikita. Don’t even get me started. You’ll learn Russian in no time, believe me. But Viktor could have benefitted from some Japanese, you know, for the early days of your marriage, at least. It must be a nightmare to communicate.”

“We… we manage so far,” Yuuri said, smiling up at Viktor.

“Nevertheless, I will do Viktor the favour he asked of me and teach you,” Mila said. “If you’d assist me in return, that is. As long as you’re able to, of course. I take it that you two are rather busy at making babies?”

“Mila!” Viktor called out, only understanding the word ‘baby’, but that was already enough.

“Calm down over there, mister,” Mila told him in Russian before returning her attention to Yuuri, who had turned a deep red.

“We hope that the gods will bless us soon,” he mumbled. “But we haven’t been lucky so far.”

“And they will bless you,” Mila said firmly, as if there was absolutely no doubt to this. “But now, Yuuri, tell me everything about your wedding and your life here so far. I want to hear everything that Silverlock over there has done.”

It was like this that Yuuri found his teacher. Mila was kind and witty, and had a clever sense of humour that Yuuri liked very much. From her, he learnt many things about the clan’s recent past, and of Viktor’s childhood days. Mila always spoke freely about him, not caring that Viktor obviously hardly understood any Japanese, and Yuuri found himself laughing at his husband’s face, so full of frustration and joy at the same time.

“The big hunt is coming up,” Mila said as she prepared to leave, fighting off an overly excited Makkachin with one hand. “I guess Yelena told you about it?”

Yuuri nodded. “Yes, but the snow came as a surprise,” he said. “So I don’t know when it will actually take place.”

“Ah, give it ten more days or so,” Mila said and turned around to Viktor, exchanging a few words with him in Russian before returning her attention to Yuuri. “He says he won’t mind if I borrow you for my work every now and then, so I suggest you do my round with me tomorrow? Check up on some of the women and fix some ankles?”

Yuuri chuckled and nodded. “I’d be delighted. Thank you for this opportunity, and for teaching me Russian.”

“Pleasure,” Mila said and petted Viktor’s head on the way out, calling something at him over her shoulder that had Yuuri’s husband blush deeply.

“Mila is nice,” Yuuri said in Russian, sitting down by the fire again and letting Makkachin rest her head on his lap.

“Hm?” Viktor sat down beside him. “Oh, yes. Mila is-“

And once more, a wave of incomprehensible Russian washed over Yuuri, who could do nothing but sit there and try his best to understand at least some of the things his husband was telling him. Only at Yuuri’s helpless expression Viktor stopped talking, and a sympathetic look appeared on his face.

Why did it have to be so difficult for them?

But Viktor only leant over and kissed him, and for this moment, none of their difficulties truly mattered.

* * *

Being a midwife was a profession that Yuuri had believed for him to be entirely out of the question.

And in some ways, it still was. Midwifery was the art of women only, and no man was ever allowed to enter a room where a woman was giving birth, unless it was her husband, and the child not their first. No man was ever taught in the ways of a midwife, either. But it seemed that here in the north, they made an exception for Yuuri.

What baffled him the most was that no one bat an eye. Not even the families he visited with Mila the following days seemed bothered by his presence, and he suspected that it had to do with his status as a sacred one. After all, he shared the same spirit as the women did, and carried his soul in his belly, just like them.

In the women’s eyes, it seemed, he was one of them.

Never before had Yuuri witnessed such fascinating things. Mila was a talented midwife, finding it easy to talk to her patients, both young and old. Just before Mila had arrived at the village, one of the women had given birth to a little boy, and Yuuri watched in awe as Mila examined the child under the ever-watchful eyes of its parents.

“A strong little man we have here!” She told Yuuri as the baby wailed in her arms, entirely unhappy about not being wrapped in warm furs for the moment. “He is active, that is always a good sign. Can you ask Irina how many babies she’s already had?”

Yuuri tried to think of the words, and butchered them entirely, but everyone laughed, and Irina understood anyway. “Shest,” she said, holding up six fingers.

“Oh, wow!” Yuuri said before he could stop himself, earning another round of laughter.

“Irina was pregnant with her third when I left,” Mila told him as she wrapped the baby boy into the fur again. “And now she’s just had number six. Eh, Irina?” She said something to her, gesturing at Irina’s husband, who only laughed heartily at the midwife’s remark. Yuuri did not need a translation to understand that.

Afterwards, Mila briefly examined Irina, but as the birth had been quick and easy, there was nothing she had to take care of. Yuuri thanked Irina and her husband for their time, earning a warm smile from the woman in return and happy cheers from the five older children as they left.

“Irina and her husband have always been very active in their bed,” Mila chuckled. “A love marriage. They were a couple before their parents even thought of them being a good match. But I guess the gods had their hands in this. And now they fill the world with little versions of themselves.” She nudged Yuuri with her elbow. “I bet we won’t have to wait for long until we have a little future clan leader, eh?”

Yuuri blushed. “I… Well, maybe,” he said softly.

“Ah, don’t be shy with me!” Mila laughed as they entered her hut again where broth was boiling in the pot on the fire, its scent filling the room. “I’ve seen it all. And I’ve seen how Viktor looks at you. I bet he has you every night.”

Yuuri played with the hem of his sleeve. “He… he used to,” he said. “But since I’ve bled, he hasn’t done anything. I thought we’d continue where we left off, but all he does in the evenings is to put his arms around me when we sleep.” He met Mila’s gaze, shrugging lightly. “I don’t know if he’s just not in the mood, or…”

Mila tilted her head to the side. “You haven’t initiated anything?” She asked.

Yuuri shook his head, rubbing his arm anxiously. “My… my people, they… where I’m from, the mate doesn’t… you know, the mate is just… supposed to go with what the husband decides. To be taken whenever the husband deems it appropriate, so I…”

“Oh my,” Mila sighed and rubbed her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief before she composed himself again and reached out for Yuuri’s hands. “It seems we’ve come across some more cultural differences here, Yuuri.”

Yuuri frowned. “What do you mean?” He asked in confusion. “Did I do something wrong?”

Had he accidentally insulted Viktor with any of his actions, or given him the wrong impression?

“Of course not, Yuuri,” Mila said softly. “But you see, here in the north, a man won’t touch his mate after the sacred time of bleeding until his mate shows that they are ready again. It is a sign of respect of the husband for his mate.”

Yuuri blinked. “Oh.”

“Oh,” Mila confirmed and let go of his hands again. “Viktor is probably dying to have you again, but he will not do so until you signalise him that you are ready and willing. To ignore this would mean to violate your dignity.”

Yuuri could not help but feel very, very stupid. So it was not Viktor not wanting him, but Yuuri being ignorant about the ways of the north?

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he murmured, looking down at his lap. “I didn’t know that. I… What must he think of me now?”

“He won’t think anything,” Mila replied lightly. “This is how he has been raised. He knows that for a mate remaining chaste there are reasons, and that those reasons are none of his business. Breaking that rule would mean to insult the goddess of the moon, and he’s far too smart, and far too much in love with you, to even think of such a thing.”

Yuuri blushed even deeper as Mila said that, as she mentioned love, of all things.

Could other people see it, too, how Yuuri felt for him? How Viktor, apparently, felt for Yuuri?

Mila smiled knowingly, as if she had been reading his thoughts. “Viktor hardly ever shuts up about you, Yuuri,” she said. “He’s absolutely smitten. And he loves you deeply, and fiercely. Just like you love him, I guess.”

Yuuri did not know what to reply to that.

But that was not necessary.

He knew that he loved Viktor. And that was more than enough.

“I don’t know how to… how to initiate anything, though,” he admitted to Mila, who was now cutting herbs into smaller pieces and adding them to the boiling broth in the pot. “I was told to do exactly the opposite. To just lie there and be quiet…”

“I know,” Mila replied softly. “I’ve been told about that when I lived in the south. But it is not as hard as you think, Yuuri. When he kisses you, simply don’t let him finish it. When he hugs you, don’t let go of him. When he touches you, guide his hand. Use your eyes. Touch him as well. Believe me, he will get the hint. And if he’s still being stupid then, just moan. Believe me.” She tossed a handful of herbs into the pot. “No matter where I’ve gone, I’ve learnt one thing for sure – men are the same _everywhere_.”

* * *

And that was how Yuuri found himself lying in bed, staring at the ceiling with the fur pulled up to his chin, listening to his racing heart as he waited for Viktor.

It had been an evening like many others – at some point, Viktor had returned from the training grounds with Makkachin, the dog almost knocking Yuuri over in her excitement to say hello. Viktor had kissed him in greeting, his hand lingering on the small of Yuuri’s back for a moment before pulling away and humming in delight at the food that Yuuri had been working on. Yuuri would not have called himself a very good cook, but he had quickly learnt what things his husband liked, and tried his best to make a good meal for him every day. They had eaten in blissful silence, Makkachin whining and begging for a treat all the while. Afterwards, they had cleaned up together, only to be disturbed by Georgi, who needed Viktor’s help with something. Viktor, of course, had agreed to help him, and had kissed Yuuri apologetically on the lips. He had nodded then towards their nest, and Yuuri’s heart had fluttered in anticipation. Perhaps Viktor was planning to end their time of celibacy tonight on his own terms?

Yuuri’s hand came to rest on his stomach where the little swell had been, the proof of their mating that he had carried around so proudly. It felt strange not to feel it anymore, that there was only the softness that he already knew. That all that Viktor had given him had been taken away from him.

He did not know why the gods had not blessed them, but he knew it was wiser not to question them. Minako had once told him that usually, the gods wanted to give a married couple more time together before blessing them with a child – perhaps it was that way with him and Viktor, too?

Perhaps the time was just not right, yet?

Yuuri sighed, bringing his other hand to his face and rubbing his eyes. He knew that if his father-in-law and the priestess had their way, he would be giving birth already. In their eyes, only the birth of an heir would fulfil the prophecy – although Yuuri had to admit that Priestess Lilia admitted to not truly knowing the will of the gods either. No one could know if a child was the key to the next step in the gods’ plan for them. If they had a plan for them at all.

Makkachin whined as the door opened, and Yuuri heard Viktor’s gentle voice telling their dog to be good. That was one thing Yuuri always understood, for it made Makkachin wag her tail happily, and she would curl up by the fire like the good girl that she was.

Yuuri lay down on his side, listening as Viktor moved around in their home, humming to himself a soft and pleasant tune. That was something Viktor often did when he was in a good mood, and the fact he was humming now made Yuuri’s heart flutter even more.

Eventually, the curtain was pushed aside and Viktor climbed into their bed in nothing but his shift, immediately reaching out for Yuuri and pulling him into his arms.

“Sorry,” he said apologetically. “Georgi…”

Yuuri nodded softly and pressed a small kiss to Viktor’s jaw. “It is okay,” he whispered in Russian, which caused Viktor’s eyes to sparkle with joy.

“My Yuuri,” he sighed happily and cupped his cheek, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead before settling at Yuuri’s side and holding him as he closed his eyes to sleep.

Yuuri’s heart sank.

He tried to think of what Mila had said – what he could do to tell Viktor, without words, that he was ready. That he wanted him. Kiss him, hold him, touch him, moan, if you must. All of it seemed so very complicated to Yuuri, and to initiate mating by himself felt so very wrong. But what else could he do?

Shyly, he looked up at Viktor’s face. He had his eyes closed, his lashes long and beautiful, like a woman’s. When he rested, he looked so much younger than he was, as if there were no worries in the world that could ever affect him. He was so heartbreakingly beautiful to Yuuri that it always made him sad, and he pitied Viktor for having to put up with a mate that was not even close to such perfection.

Yuuri averted his gaze. How could he possibly seduce Viktor, he thought, if he could not even come close to him in creation?

“Yuuri?”

Viktor’s hand was gentle in his hair, his fingers brushing over the sensitive skin in his nape. But there was worry in his voice, and that alone broke Yuuri’s heart.

He didn’t want Viktor to worry about him.

Viktor asked him something, but Yuuri did not understand. He just shook his head and curled up at Viktor’s side to show that he wanted to sleep. To even think that he could ever seduce Viktor!

But Viktor did not let go. He gently pushed Yuuri away and hovered over him, the worry clear on his face.

“I’m fine!” Yuuri groaned, rolling to his side so that he wouldn’t have to face him.

Viktor said nothing for a long moment, the only sound audible being the crackling fire.

And then, Yuuri felt Viktor’s hand on his belly, and a question gently asked, among the Russian a word that he understood.

_Pain_.

Viktor believed that Yuuri was in pain.

Yuuri let out a shaky breath and shook his head lightly to take at least that fear from his husband.

But Viktor’s hand remained on his belly, questioning, and so very, very warm that Yuuri wanted to cry. Viktor was so gentle with him, so considerate, and he could not even tell him that he was not doing anything wrong.

Yuuri swallowed thickly before rolling onto his back again, facing his husband. Viktor’s eyes were filled with deep worry, and there was this frustration that neither of them could truly express what they wanted to say.

Then and there, Yuuri decided to be brave.

Placing his hand on top of Viktor’s, he began to guide him, down his stomach to his hips, and to his thighs that were still covered by his shift. Yuuri shivered as he felt Viktor’s hand on his bare skin, and as he risked a glance, Yuuri paused, waiting to see how Viktor would react.

Viktor was holding his breath, and his eyes were wide in both surprise and anticipation. Their eyes finally met, and Yuuri begged to the gods that at least his face would convey what he meant by his actions. He felt Viktor move his fingers, brushing over the soft skin of his inner thigh and sending the most pleasant shivers down Yuuri’s spine. Almost automatically, he gently pushed Viktor’s hand further up his thigh and under his shift. Only then he let go, and lay back on the furs, looking up at Viktor and licking his lips.

In an instant, Viktor’s mouth was on his own, hard, hungry, and demanding, causing Yuuri to gasp in surprise before he returned the kiss with equal fervour. A wonderful heat began to pool in his belly, right where his soul sat, where he had carried Viktor’s seed, and he groaned as finally, Viktor’s hand was where he wanted it, and his fingers slipping into him with ease.

“Ah!” Yuuri’s eyes fell shut at the intrusion and Viktor’s movements stilled, breaking there kiss barely enough to speak.

“Yuuri?” He breathed, in this way so very unique to him, the way that asked if Yuuri was okay. Instead of giving an answer, Yuuri kissed him again, pushing himself down on Viktor’s fingers and begging the gods that his husband would understand, that this was what he wanted, needed, could not live without.

It seemed that the gods had granted him his wish.

Viktor’s kisses left hot trails on his skin wherever his lips touched him. Yuuri’s shift was pulled over his head and quickly discarded, Viktor’s free hand roaming his chest as his fingers teased and stretched him, the sweet pleasure coming from it reducing Yuuri to a whimpering mess, making sounds that could barely be muffled by Viktor’s mouth on his own. A few more strokes were all it took and Yuuri was crying out in pure bliss, tightening around Viktor’s fingers, and forgetting himself entirely.

Yuuri had no idea how long he lay there, trembling and breathing heavily with Viktor’s fingers still deep inside him. All the tension, all the anxiety had been taken from him within the blink of an eye, and Yuuri could not help but wonder if this was a dream.

Only as Viktor withdrew his fingers he was brought back to reality, letting out a whine at the loss. He opened his eyes, blushing in embarrassment at the mess his body had made on both the furs and Viktor’s fingers, that were coated in slick fluid – and there was a lot of it, more than he had ever seen from himself, and all because of Viktor’s fingers.

Viktor was looking at his hand in awe, rubbing his fingertips together, even bringing it to his face to smell it. Yuuri blushed even more, wondering what Viktor could be possibly thinking. But then, Viktor lowered his hand again, wiping it on his own shift before taking it off as well, revealing himself to Yuuri completely.

Yuuri was sure he would never get used to the sight of Viktor being naked, and aroused, all because of him.

Viktor’s hands ran down Yuuri’s thighs, leaving him no other choice but to watch as his husband caressed his legs, as if they were the most fragile thing in the world. It was a tender gesture, loving and caring, and Yuuri found himself becoming more and more comfortable like this, despite his legs opened before Viktor like this. Viktor had touched him, had brought him to the height of pleasures without taking anything for himself, and that alone was a gesture that moved Yuuri deeply.

Suddenly, lay down on his stomach before Yuuri, hooking his arms around his thighs, and before Yuuri could protest, Viktor buried his face between Yuuri’s legs.

A mewling sound was all that came over Yuuri’s lips.

Viktor’s hands on his thighs kept Yuuri in place, pinning him down on the furs and making it impossible for him to move away as Viktor devoured him. His tongue was doing a dance on his most sacred flesh, teasing, tugging, with Viktor’s lips kissing and brushing in sweet torture. Yuuri whimpered, his arms limp above his head as Viktor drank from him, his mind blank.

No one had ever told him it could be like this. He had been told to take his place as a mate, to leave all these things entirely to his husband. To be obedient and willing if his husband wished to have him, and to lie there and endure it for the sake of carrying children.

None of this could be called enduring.

A second wave of pure pleasure washed over Yuuri, his back arched as he cried out his pleasure, and Viktor pulled away and turned him over, and Yuuri barely registered it as his husband finally, _finally_ entered and claimed him.

It was strange, Yuuri thought, that merely minutes ago, he had been terrified of what Viktor would think of him, that he had been sure that he could never be enough for someone so perfect. But Viktor had bestowed the highest of gestures upon him, pleasuring him not only once, but twice in the most unspeakable ways before taking what was rightfully his. And not once, not even for a second, had Yuuri felt unloved by him.

Viktor’s hands rested gently on his waist as Yuuri was taken by him, his thrusts slow at first, precise, and with the greatest care, as if he was worried about Yuuri being overly sensitive after what he had done to him. But Yuuri could still feel the heat in his belly, and the ache between his legs, instinctively opening them wider and letting Viktor in even deeper. A deep groan escaped Viktor’s throat as he pushed deeper, and his hands came to rest on top of Yuuri’s, intertwining their fingers so they could hold onto each other. Viktor’s hands on his own, his weight on top of him, and feeling him so deep inside almost pushed Yuuri over the edge.

“Viktor…” He breathed, gasping and grabbing his stomach. “I can… I can feel you… there…” He whispered in awe.

Viktor’s movements stilled for a moment, and his hand joined Yuuri’s on his belly before he picked up his pace again, thrusting into him harder and faster until finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Yuuri found his release a third time that night, and took Viktor with him over the edge.

They stayed like this for a long time, with Viktor buried deep inside Yuuri as they calmed down from the heights of pleasure and basked in the blissful afterglow of their mating. Yuuri was sure that nothing would ever compare to this, and that if he had known that Viktor possessed such fervour, then oh, he would have tried to give himself to him again much sooner. To be held like this, to be loved like this, it was beyond compare.

Yuuri sighed as Viktor eventually pulled out of him, shifting as he felt the soft fabric of a cloth pressed against him to stop any remaining seed from flowing out. With another cloth, Viktor wiped away any remains of fluid, and pressed a kiss to Yuuri’s shoulder when he was done.

“Spasibo, Viktor,” Yuuri whispered, reaching out to touch his husband’s cheek.

Viktor smiled at him and bent down to whisper something into his ear, something Yuuri could not understand, but that was okay. He returned the smile and curled up in his husband’s arms, closing his eyes.

With their joined hands resting on his belly, they fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A round of applause for Viktor being an amazing husband.
> 
> Yelena is a queen and I will fight for her.


	7. The Hunted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what's in this chapter?  
Babies, fluff, cuddles, kisses, and graphic depictions of violence.  
Yes, you heard that right. Be warned.

Mila greeted Yuuri with a knowing grin the next day.

“Had fun last night?” She asked innocently as Yuuri sat down at her fire slowly and carefully.

“Everything hurts,” Yuuri sighed and rubbed his hip.

Mila laughed. “By the gods! How many times did you do it?”

“Not so many times!” Yuuri defended himself as he turned a deep red. “But… we were up early, so…”

“So you decided to get some quality time, eh.”

“Mila!” Yuuri cried, but the woman just giggled and continued to prepare her bag.

“I’m just happy for you,” she said. “You were so upset yesterday when you told me that you hadn’t mated for a while. Say, is Viktor a good lover? Does he hit all the right places?”

“Alright, I’m not talking about that.”

“I’m just kidding,” Mila laughed and reached for a pot full of crushed herbs, pouring a handful of them into a pouch. “Alright, today is a big day.” She clapped her hands excitedly. “Have you ever attended a birth?”

Of course Yuuri had not. His mother had not been a midwife, and he had always been regarded as some odd thing between men and women at his home, neither welcome here nor there. But here in the north, his place was amongst the women, and no one would bat an eye at him being present at a birth, or helping Mila with her midwifery duties.

And so, he followed Mila quite anxiously out of her hut and down the path to the village centre.

“Roza’s husband came running to me yesterday afternoon and said that she’s had contractions,” Mila informed him as they walked. “It’s their first child, so the birth can take a while, and as long as the water has not broken, one can continue with the day’s work until that happens.” Mila yawned and stretched her arms above her head with a groan before she continued. “We’ll check on her now and see how they are both doing, then we can decide what to do next.”

Yuuri nodded, his anxiety fluttering in his stomach. He had never witnessed a birth before or had helped with one – what if he proved to be utterly useless to Mila? What if he did something wrong?

Mila’s hand patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she said softly and gave him a little wink. “Just do what I say.”

They reached their destination a few minutes later – a small hut near the house of the priestess, not too far from the tree under which they had gotten married. A very nervous young man opened the door to them, and he almost cried in relief at their sight.

“There, there,” Mila said and patted the man’s shoulder. “Yuuri, that is Anatoly.”

“H-Hello,” Yuuri said softly, bowing his head. Anatoly greeted him the same way, but Yuuri could not blame him for not being able to focus on him – for by the fire, a young woman sat, her belly large and in her hands a cup with water.

Mila put her bag down and sat down beside Roza, greeting her and gently touching her stomach, examining her with skilled hands.

“Yuuri, put your hands where mine are,” she said. “Come, don’t be shy. Roza said it’s okay.”

Yuuri knelt down beside Mila, carefully doing as he was told, putting his hands on the woman’s stomach. He could feel the life moving inside her, and his eyes widened in awe.

“What you feel there are the baby’s legs,” Mila explained. “Which means that the baby is already in the right position. Head down. Couldn’t be more perfect for the first baby! Do you want to tell her?”

Yuuri found that such a situation was probably the worst opportunity for him to practise his Russian, but he managed to put a few words together that had both Anatoly and Roza smile in delight.

Mila then pushed up Roza’s skirts and put her hand between her legs, frowning in concentration as she worked. Roza held completely still, as if none of this bothered her at all. After a moment, Mila withdrew her hand again and wiped it on a cloth, exchanging a few words with the young couple. Roza suddenly looked worried, and so did her husband, and Yuuri swallowed thickly.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“Her water should have broken already,” Mila explained. “I want to do it manually now. The birth itself should then be quicker, and spare her a lot of endless pain. Once the water breaks, the husband must leave the house and not return until the child is born. They are hesitant, of course.”

Just as Yuuri opened his mouth, Roza gripped her stomach and cried out in pain, falling back against her husband as the contraction came. Anatoly gasped and held her close, speaking to her in a hushed voice, so loving and tender that Yuuri’s heart ached.

“Tolya,” Mila said softly when Roza was able to breathe lighter again.

Anatoly was as pale as a sheet, but he exchanged a brief look with his wife, and more was not needed for him to accept that he had to leave. Mila and Yuuri busied himself with preparing everything for the birth to give the couple a few minutes of privacy. When Anatoly left, Roza was crying, and Mila patted her hand comfortingly.

“He’ll go and fetch her mother now,” she said to Yuuri as they helped Roza to stand. “Only women are allowed in the birthing chamber. Traditionally, the midwife, her assistant, the expecting mother, and her mother.” When she saw Yuuri’s face, she added: “In your case, Yelena will be with you. She’ll fight at your side like a lioness.”

The thought of having Yelena with him when he would give birth was a comforting one, even if he would have preferred to have his own mother at his side. But she was far away, and would most likely never be able to be with him at such a time. Here, Yelena was his mother.

It could have been much worse, Yuuri had to admit.

Roza’s mother arrived a few minutes later, her hands still white from making flour as she embraced all of them, even Yuuri, and thanked them for helping her daughter. Yuuri was surprised he was able to understand that, but found that whenever they spoke Russian, they tended to speak clearly, as if they wanted to make sure he understood what was being said.

“There are two traditional ways of giving birth here,” Mila explained as she got the instruments ready. “Either sitting on the edge of the bed, or standing on bricks. It really depends on what the mother prefers. Some are too weak to stand; others can’t bear sitting. I’ve delivered babies where the mother was on all fours, too. For Roza, we’ll just go with the flow. She’ll tell us what she wants. But for now, we need to have her sitting so I can break her waters.”

Yuuri nodded, trying to remember all the information Mila was giving him. It would help him, too, once his time had come.

Together with the help of Roza’s mother, they led Roza to the bed and set her down on the edge. Her mother sat behind her, supporting her and singing a soft and pleasant tune – a traditional song to invoke the goddess of the moon and ask for her blessing for a safe and quick birth, he was told. Together with Mila, Yuuri arranged everything for the procedure – a large cloth would protect the furs from becoming dirty, and a bowl on the floor between Roza’s legs would catch the fluids.

And then, Mila began to work.

Yuuri held his breath as he watched her work with the instrument, a small staff with what seemed to be a tiny hook on one end disappearing between the woman’s legs. But Roza did not move, keeping her eyes fixed on the young midwife, her hand twitching nervously as they waited.

“There we go!” Mila said in satisfaction as clear liquid streamed down her arm and into the bowl. Just then, another contraction hit Roza, and she clutched her stomach tightly, suppressing a pained cry.

“Yuuri, be so kind and prepare the potion,” Mila said as she calmly cleaned herself and her instrument up. Yuuri nodded and went to work at once, knowing by heart how to mix the herbs to create an effective pain reliever. It would not help too much, but it was something, at least, and would leave Roza enough air to breathe.

Roza’s mother kept singing as she comforted her daughter, rubbing her belly soothingly. Would it be like this for him, too, Yuuri wondered? Would he be in such pain that he would cry? Would he hold onto Yelena for dear life, and beg the gods to ease his suffering?

There was little more than they could do now but to wait. Mila kept checking Roza every now and then, but she was not ready yet, despite the contractions that kept coming. Once the potion was ready, Roza greedily gulped it down, not caring about the terribly bitter taste. From outside, they could hear angry shouting, and a desperate voice calling Roza’s name.

“Men always go crazy when it is the first child,” Mila explained quietly. “This is why they are not allowed in here. They would not let us do our work. The wolf in them is too strong. They would try to fight us off. The other men, the older men, especially, will stay with him and comfort him.”

Yuuri looked at Roza, who was crying against her mother’s shoulder in pain and despair.

“It’s not easy for her either,” Mila added. “But this is how it has been done since the beginning of time. In here are only those who carry their souls in their bellies. Anyone else would only be a distraction now.”

Yuuri understood what she meant. Despite being a sacred one, and therefore belonging to the realm of women in this matter, he was also a man, and he understood only too well how men could be. Viktor would surely be just like Anatoly when his time came.

“Now we wait,” Mila said and rubbed Roza’s knee comfortingly. “Right, my girl?”

* * *

Viktor was walking down the hill from the training grounds in the afternoon, carrying the small spears of the children under his arm as he noticed the commotion – a familiar sight it was, nonetheless. A group of men, both young and old, had gathered outside one of the huts, holding back an expectant father that wanted nothing more than to return to his mate’s side, but was not allowed to.

“Is it time already?” Viktor asked Georgi, who was among the men, glancing at the hut. “I thought Roza had at least another month.”

Georgi huffed. “You forgot about time entirely, it seems,” he said. “But yes, it’s time. Her mother has come, and Mila and Yuuri are with her, too.”

“Yuuri?” Viktor repeated, looking at the hut once more, this time in awe. “Oh my. This… this must be the first time he sees something like that.”

“Well, I’m not jealous of him,” Georgi replied. “Nasty business, I’ve heard.”

“Don’t let your mother hear you said that about such a holy act,” Viktor said and handed the spears of the children to one of the boys that was walking past them. Once he had his hands free, he crossed his arms over his chest and watched one of the elders comfort the upset Anatoly.

“Has she been screaming a lot?” Viktor asked the young father sympathetically.

The elder shook his head. “Not much, no,” he replied for Anatoly, who was burying his face in his hands. “But ‘tis the same old story. A man cannot bear to be apart from his mate when they are in pain.”

The other men hummed in agreement, patting Anatoly’s shoulders.

“But it will be a good birth, I’m sure,” another elder announced. “For a sacred one is with your wife, Tolya. Isn’t that a great blessing already?”

“Indeed, indeed,” the others agreed, and Viktor’s chest swelled with pride for his mate, and how easily his nature had been accepted by his clansmen.

“And Mila is one of the best midwives in the north,” he added and crouched down beside Anatoly, patting the man’s back. “She’s seen it all. Trust me, my friend, you’ll have your wife and baby in your arms before you know it.”

“I can’t stand it, Viktor,” Anatoly breathed, shaking his head. “I want to be with her and help her when she’s in such pain, but…”

Viktor could not claim to know that he knew what this felt like, for he was not a father yet. But even imagining that Yuuri could be in great pain, and that he would not be allowed to be with him… the mere thought of it made Viktor shiver uncomfortably.

“Your Roza is a strong one,” Viktor said encouragingly. “Hey, do you remember when we were young boys and tried to chase the girls down at the river? Roza was so annoyed with you that she pulled your trousers down and tossed you right into the water!”

That seemed to lift the mood a little, and Anatoly even managed to smile until a heartbreaking cry came from the hut, and the man’s face fell once again.

Viktor and Georgi sat down at his side on the ground, and put an arm around him each. “We’ll get through this with you like men,” Viktor said and exchanged a look with Georgi. “Come. Sing for your Roza.”

* * *

To Yuuri, it seemed as if days had passed already.

“Shhhh…” Roza’s mother patted the woman’s shoulder gently, attempting to comfort her daughter as she cried, but it was of no use. Mila just rubbed her leg comfortingly, a sympathetic expression on her face as she talked to her in a soothing way.

Yuuri had spent the last few hours keeping the fire going, preparing hot water and clean cloths, even making something to eat for all of them but neither of them had really been able to get down much. For the last hour, they had walked around with Roza through the small hut to keep her blood circulating, and to encourage the baby to come. But it seemed that the baby was in no hurry – much to Roza’s sorrow, who just wanted to get it over with.

At some point, singing had started outside the door, and that alone had put a smile on Roza’s face. Mila had told him that it was custom for the men to show their support to Anatoly, and to stay with him during his separation from Roza. The singing was a gift from Anatoly to his mate, meant to invoke the goddess and to show her that even if they could not see each other, he was there. Among the singing voices, Yuuri could hear Viktor’s, and his heart ached in admiration and adoration for his husband’s kind heart.

Now, Roza had returned to sitting on the edge of her bed, and Mila agreed that probably, this was the best way for her to give birth, for Roza was a tender, fragile girl, and would need the strength and her mother’s support. She was leaning back against her, her face red and sweaty from the exertion, and she held her breath as Mila examined her again.

“Yuuri, take a look,” Mila said, and Yuuri quickly moved to her side. “She’s ready now. Roza is feeling a lot of pressure, and that’s the best way to tell if the baby is in the right position. I have no idea how long this will take, it might go quick or slow, depending on the baby. Some come out faster than others.”

Yuuri looked up at Roza, who was barely able to breathe properly anymore. But when Mila spoke to her and pushed her legs further apart, new life seemed to come to her, and she sat up, grabbing the wooden beam to her left and her mother’s hand to the right, preparing herself. Pure determination was on her face, and Yuuri was sure that if anyone had come to disturb her now, Roza would have fought them off herself entirely.

And then, at Mila’s cue, she began to push, almost crushing her mother’s hand.

“Good girl!” Mila called from her position on the floor. “Follow your instincts, Roza, you can do it! Let the goddess guide you!”

Yuuri couldn’t do anything but sit beside Mila and try his best to support the young mother, keeping her legs parted when she wanted to close them, rubbing over her thigh soothingly.

“Perfect, Roza,” he said when she gasped for air. “Good, Roza!”

Roza’s mother said something, and Roza laughed breathlessly.

Mila grinned. “She said you sound like a true native when you’re under stress,” she translated for Yuuri before she checked on Roza again. “She can push again with the next contraction. She’ll feel when the time is right, you see? Ah, there we go…”

And so it continued, with Roza screaming and crying as she pushed and gasping when taking breaks. There was a little blood, but Mila seemed unfazed by it, as she kept encouraging Roza to push. Yuuri had never seen anything like it before. Roza, who was small and fragile, seemed to turn into a lioness, strong and fearless, facing pain that would have killed most grown men already.

“There is the head!” Mila called, and Yuuri gasped in wonder at what he saw. “Not long now,” she said to Yuuri when Roza cried in relief. “A little more, and then we’ll pull the little one out by the shoulders. Get the basin ready, yes?”

Yuuri nodded and jumped to his feet, rushing over to the small wooden basin he had prepared earlier and filled it with the water he had warmed up. Outside, the singing never faded, and Yuuri was sure that the goddess was with them now, guiding Roza on her way to motherhood.

“Yuuri, get me one of the cloths, quick!” Mila called suddenly, and Yuuri almost tripped over his own feet as he brought it to her, just in time to watch as Mila reached out and pulled the baby out of his mother and into the world. “There we go!”

The cries of a baby filled the room, soft and incredibly beautiful, and Roza began to cry in relief and happiness.

“A fine little boy you have there, Roza!” Mila smiled and wrapped the crying baby into the cloth Yuuri had tossed into her lap, gently rubbing it somewhat clean. “I know, I know, you’re entirely unhappy about being out in the cold world and away from your mother’s safe womb.”

From outside, they could hear the excited shout, the praise that Anatoly called to the Heavens and the cheers of the men as they heard the crying baby.

Roza sniffed and reached out for her son as Mila placed the little boy in her arms, crying and kissing him as she finally got to hold him. Yuuri couldn’t help but notice a few tears rolling down his own cheeks, and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. Never before had he seen something so beautiful, so perfect, than this little baby boy. And the pain, all the pain that had tormented Roza seemed to be entirely forgotten, for she only had eyes for her child, kissing and cuddling her son without end.

“This is why it’s worth it,” Mila said to him as they watched mother and child. “Just this moment. The goddess has brought them together. They share one blood, one soul. He came from her, and will always be part of her.”

Yuuri could only nod.

One day, this would be him.

The afterbirth was quickly delivered, too, and once Roza’s mother had bathed the baby and the mother had been cleaned up as well, Mila sent Yuuri outside to bring the father in, and to deliver the good news of a healthy son being born.

Yuuri had never been so nervous before about speaking Russian.

His knees felt weak as he opened the door and stepped out into the sunlight to the celebrating crowd that held their breaths at his sight. Yuuri’s eyes quickly found Anatoly, who was as white as a sheet from all the excitement and stress.

“Eto mal’chik”, he told him, and the men erupted into cheers once more as Anatoly burst into tears of joy at the news of a boy, and rushed past Yuuri to get to his wife and son. A pair of arms were wrapped around him, and Yuuri found himself in the embrace of his husband, warm and soothing, and his lips on his hair.

“My Yuuri!” Viktor breathed, and Yuuri pulled away just enough to see Viktor smile down at him in immense pride. “My Yuuri, the midwife!”

Yuuri chuckled and averted his gaze bashfully. “Mila is midwife,” he replied. “I’m help.”

At that, Viktor pulled him closer for a gentle kiss. “Ah, ah, Yuuri!” He said when they parted and cupped his cheeks. “Hungry?”

It was Yuuri’s stomach that responded for him, growling loudly at the prospect of food. Viktor laughed and took his hand, taking him away from the crowd. But they did not return home. Instead, Viktor picked up some food from his aunt Lilia, who exchanged a few words with them and gave Yuuri a nod of approval when she was told about his first time as a midwife’s assistant. It was strange to stand before this tall and imposing woman and earn her praise, for Yuuri had been convinced that she did not approve of him. But he had soon learnt that this was simply the way Lilia looked at people, and that she did not mean any harm.

With the bread and strips of dried meat wrapped up in a bundle, Yuuri slipped his arm through Viktor’s, curious to see what his husband had planned. They had only ever spent their days either around their home and following their duties, not really seeing each other much during the day. Only in the evenings and at night they could spend time with each other, and oh, they always spent it wisely.

But now, Viktor took him away from the village, down the path towards the beach. It was a place Yuuri had not visited yet, for he had been warned against going there on his own by Yelena. The ground was slippery and the tide unpredictable, and therefore not a safe place for someone who did not know the ways of northern nature.

But with Viktor at his side, Yuuri felt safe and warm, and he followed him to a flat rock by the shore that was most likely usually hidden under the water’s surface. They sat down, the food on their lap, the wind gently caressing their faces. It was cold, but not as cold as it usually was in the north during winter. After all, spring was coming, even if it did not look like it yet.

“Kraseevyi,” Yuuri said as he let his eyes wander over the crystal-clear water of the ocean. “So… so beautiful.”

Viktor beamed in delight at Yuuri’s successful attempt at Russian, and quickly pecked his cheek before he began to speak, pointing at the ocean and gesturing broadly at the beach before touching his heart. Yuuri understood. This was Viktor’s favourite place, and he liked it there very much.

He could see why. It was a piece of untouched, wild nature. If one followed the line of the shore, one could spot more villages in the distance, the smoke rising from the many chimneys. It was an incredibly peaceful setting, and Yuuri could easily imagine his husband spending his times at the beach as a child, playing with Makkachin.

But then, he remembered that Viktor had spent the first few years of his life with his mother in slavery. It was something he had never spoken about with him, not only because of the language barrier, but also because Yuuri was afraid of upsetting Viktor. If he wanted to talk to him about it, then he surely would one day.

“Eh, Yuuri?” Viktor said suddenly and nudged him with his elbow before pointing at himself, gesturing that he wanted to show him something. Yuuri looked at him expectantly, watching as Viktor brought his hands to his mouth, as if he wanted to shout – but instead, he let out a call. A loud, clear, melodic call, coming deep from his throat. It echoed in the bay, sending shivers down Yuuri’s spine.

And then, within a few seconds after Viktor had lowered his hands, his calls were returned. They seemed to come from all sides, loud, clear, and melodic, almost like songs meant to invoke the gods. Yuuri looked around in awe, realising the calls were coming from the surrounding villages, responding to Viktor in the way of their ancestors. It was incredibly beautiful, so incredibly moving that Yuuri could not help but move closer to his husband, curling up in his arms as they listened to the ancient calls. Viktor kissed his hair, holding Yuuri close and keeping him warm.

They stayed like this for a long time, not saying a word until the last calls had faded, and the only sounds remaining were those of the gentle waves reaching the shore. Yuuri sighed and closed his eyes, basking in the warmth of his husband’s embrace. This was how it should have been before their marriage – they should have been given the opportunity to spend time together, to learn more about each other, without anyone else around. None of this had been possible for them. And yet, it felt so natural to be with Viktor now, even if they struggled with communication. It would take time for them to become truly accustomed with the other, to learn what the other wanted and needed, and to read between the lines. And it would take even longer for Yuuri to become somewhat conversational in Russian.

But Viktor never put pressure on him. Never pushed him, never showed himself impatient with him.

And Yuuri loved him for it.

When Viktor’s hand touched his belly, Yuuri purred in contentment, placing his hand on top of Viktor’s, lacing their fingers together. If the gods wanted it, he would soon be pregnant, would not have to give up Viktor’s seed again. And Yuuri wanted it, oh, he wanted it more than he would have ever dared to think. He had expected that he would simply accept bearing children as his duty, since there was certainly no way around it. But now, he found that he wanted a child – Viktor’s child. He wanted to feel it grow inside him, and nurse it as his chest, wanted the child to be the living proof of what he felt for Viktor.

Yuuri sighed softly, burying his face in his husband’s shoulder. They needed no words to understand each other, no language to come to an understanding. Viktor’s kisses and his hand on his belly, caressing it gently, told him more than words ever could. It told him that Viktor wanted a child, too, and that he, just like Yuuri, was impatient to see it happen.

Yuuri had seen the miracle of childbirth. The pain, the fear, the misery that came with it. But he had also seen the joy, the happiness that came with the holy act of childbirth. And he wanted it, too.

* * *

Just as Mila had promised, the snow that had surprised them overnight began to melt over the next few days, revealing the ground and the first plants dared to grow, hesitantly reaching out towards the sun. And just like that, the time for the great hunt had come, and the village prepared for the big day.

“I know, Makka, I know you want to come,” Viktor told his dog patiently, after repeatedly telling her to stay seated by their home. Makkachin barked in confirmation, wagging her tail excitedly as Viktor knelt down before her and cupped her face, squishing her cheeks together. “But let’s face the truth – you would not attack the elk, you would ask it to play with you!”

Makkachin barked again, her eyes sparkling with joy, and Viktor shook his head in resignation. “You are a wonderful dog, Makka, but definitely not a hunting dog. So stay with Yuuri and protect him, yes?”

At the sound of his name, his mate came out of their hut and laughed at the sight of Viktor giving Makkachin a good talk. The sound of Yuuri’s laughter had Viktor’s heart soaring, and he let go of Makkachin to take Yuuri into his arms instead.

They kissed for a good while, unashamed and proud, whilst the other men began to gather in the centre of the village to get ready for the hunt. They had prepared their bows and spears carefully, polishing each weapon for the occasion. The dogs that were allowed to come gathered around their masters excitedly, barking and playing with each other. No wonder Makkachin wanted to be part of the games.

Eventually, Yuuri and Viktor pulled away from each other, their lips swollen from their kisses and their cheeks reddened, and their hearts fluttering.

“Oh my,” Viktor sighed, gently cupping Yuuri’s cheek, brushing his thumb across his cheekbone. “I will never grow tired of kissing you, solnyshko.”

Yuuri just grinned at him, not understanding a single word except for the various terms of endearment that Viktor kept using for him, and gave Viktor another peck on the lips before slipping his hand into Viktor’s.

“Makka, stay,” Viktor said once more to his dog, and Makkachin lay down beside the door as her two favourite people walked away to the centre of the village.

Nikita stood under the elder tree, nodding at his son as he saw him approach. Behind Nikita, his own group of hunters had gathered – all of them the most renowned ones. Viktor’s own group were hunters of his own age, some of them joining the hunt for the very first time. He greeted them with a wave of his hand, accepting his bow from the hands of the bow maker, who had mended and polished it just for this day. It felt good in his hand, perfectly balanced, and would prove itself worthy of a hunt like this.

Yuuri reached out to touch the bow, his fingers brushing over the polished wood in admiration. Viktor gave the bow to him, watching as his mate examined the weapon further. After all, Yuuri knew just as much as he did, and was a skilled archer just like him. More than that. Oh, Viktor was sure that Yuuri was even better than him, and that at such a hunt, someone like his Yuuri would prove to be a valuable hunter.

But Yuuri was not a hunter anymore. His place was the home now.

“Viktor,” Nikita called, gesturing up at the sun.

It was time.

Yuuri placed the bow in Viktor’s hands again, squeezing them gently before walking away to join Yelena and the other women. They had all come to watch their men prepare, and to wish them well for the great hunt. No one could ever know how long the hunt would take, and so, they wanted to give their men their blessings and pray for a safe and quick return.

Viktor turned around to his group, calling them all together and clapping his hands.

“This is the first hunt for many of you,” he said, letting his gaze wander over the young men he would lead that day. “A hunt can be dangerous. In fact, an elk can kill you if you are not careful. Therefore, it is of utter importance that you work together. Do not take unnecessary risks. Follow my commands.”

It would be quite the adventure, that was for sure. Some of the hunters in his group were joining the great hunt for the very first time, and had never hunted something bigger than a deer before. For many of them, this day would mark the transition from boyhood to adulthood – Viktor remembered only too well how it had been for him. He had hunted alongside his father, and had been the one to shoot the elk in the eye, sparing the creature from having to see their blades.

“Is that understood?” Viktor called, and his men shouted in return, raising their spears and bows.

“Good!” He gave them a brief nod and turned around once more, feeling his father’s eyes on him as he approached the group of women where his Yuuri stood beside his mother, quietly talking to her. Viktor approached his mate with bouncy steps, aware of everyone’s eyes on them as he took Yuuri’s hands into his own and brought them to his lips.

“I will slay this elk in your name and in your honour, my Yuuri,” he said softly, kissing his knuckles. “And I will lay its fur to your feet.”

Yelena whispered the translation into Yuuri’s ear, who blushed deeply as he understood what Viktor had promised him, and whispered a soft “Spasibo” that had Viktor’s heart soaring.

“Take care of my most precious jewel for me, Mama,” Viktor said to her and gave her a kiss on the cheek as well before he returned to his men, ignoring his father’s disapproving look at his public display of affection. But Viktor could not have cared less. He was in love, and would slay this elk for his mate in his name.

“The gods are with us today!” Nikita called, raising his spear. “Let us slay the great elk in their name, to their honour and grandeur!”

“To their honour and grandeur!” They shouted back at him, erupting into cheers as they marched towards the forest, their spears and bows raised towards the skies in hope for triumph.

Yelena put her arm around Yuuri, squeezing his shoulders gently as they watched the men disappear in the woods. “He will be fine,” she told him when Yuuri let out the breath he had been holding. “He is good hunter. Just like my Nika. And he has good bow with him. You saw him with the bow at meeting, remember? He is good!”

Yuuri smiled softly at that, but of course, Yelena’s words could not ease his nervousness, or his worry about Viktor.

For now, all they could do was wait.

* * *

Yuri sat on top of a few boxes by the door, chewing on a strip of dried meat. By the fire sat his mother with Yuuri, chopping some of the roots and adding them to the soup they were cooking. Just a simple meal, but it would be only completed with the meat of the elk they would be given tonight.

“Why do I have to stay here?” Yuri moaned and lay down on top of the boxes with a sigh. “Why can’t I go down to the beach?”

“Because of the tide,” Yelena replied and patted the straw mat beside her. “Come here, Yura, help us a little. Even Potya is with us, look.”

Yuri sighed dramatically, very much the same way Viktor often did, and slipped from the boxes to sit down by his mother and brother-in-law. Yuuri smiled at him, offering him one of the sweet root pieces to chew on.

“Thanks,” Yuri murmured and popped it into his mouth. “Eh, Mama? Do we still have those packs of that corn stuff from the south?”

“What do you mean?” Yelena asked. “What corn stuff?”

“The stuff the people in the south eat to everything,” Yuri said.

“Oh, you mean rice!” Yelena said, stirring in the pot. “Yes, I think we have one pack left. Why do you ask?”

“Does he know?” Yuri asked, gesturing at Yuuri. “I mean, he could cook some stuff with it? Like, stuff from his home?”

Yelena blinked in disbelief, looking at her son for a moment before she began to smile widely. “You are a sweet boy, Yura,” she said and then turned to Yuuri, briefly explaining to him what they had been talking about, and Yuuri’s face lit up immediately. Yelena rose from her mat and walked over to the storage cupboard, pulling out a small bag filled with rice that Nikita had brought with him from the south a while ago. Yuuri gasped as he was given the bag and opened it, running his hands through the grains in awe.

He looked up at Yelena, smiling widely. “I want to make katsudon,” he said in slow Russian. “Rice. Meat. Very good.”

Yelena smiled. “I’m sure Viktor would like that very much,” she said. “And I know that he likes rice very much. You see, when he was a boy, he-“

But Yuuri would never learn what Viktor had done as a boy, for they were interrupted by terrified screams coming from outside, and loud cries for help.

Yelena and Yuuri looked at each other with wide eyes and then dropped their things, getting to their feet and running out of the hut.

“Yura! Stay inside!” Yelena shouted as her son tried to follow him, pushing him back into the hut. They ran as fast as their legs would carry them, towards the cries that begged for their help. More and more women came out of their huts, leaving their children behind, running beside them towards the forest where a horrific scene was unfolding before them.

At first, they could only see the men emerging from the woods, first one, then two, then an entire group, followed by another carrying something in their midst.

Or rather, someone.

It was one of the young men that had joined the hunt for the first time, barely a boy, on the brink to adulthood, bathed in blood.

“GET MILA!” Yelena shouted and pushed through the crowd to get to the boy. “GET LILIA! QUICK!”

It was pure chaos. The women screamed, calling the names of their men as they searched for them, and Yuuri in the midst of them, alone and terrified as he called Viktor’s name over and over again, searching for that silver head of hair but couldn’t find it.

“Yuuri!” A hand grabbed his arm and turned him around.

“Georgi,” Yuuri breathed. “Georgi, where-“

“He is fine!” Georgi assured him, trying to keep his speech simple enough. “He is still in the forest, but he will come soon! I promise, Viktor is okay!”

“Yuuri!” Yelena shouted, grabbing his hand and pulling him away from Georgi. “Yuuri! Come with me! We need your help! Georgi, you too!”

There was no time for rest for either of them. Yelena led them back to the injured boy, who screamed in terror and pain as they put him on the thick straw mat to carry him to Mila’s hut. Never before had Yuuri seen so much blood, and even Yelena and Mila had paled at the sight of the injuries. Neither of them spoke as the boy was put down on the floor in Mila’s hut, and the healer bent over him to examine him.

“This was a boar,” Mila murmured after a moment, and both Yelena and Yuuri held their breaths. “An incredibly aggressive boar. The bone is completely destroyed and the lower thigh almost entirely…” She trailed off as the boy’s mother burst into the hut and broke down beside her son, cupping his cheeks and begging him to stay awake.

Mila and Yelena exchanged a few quick words before coming to an understanding, and Mila got up to grab the strongest potion against pain she had, as well as her sharpest knives.

Yuuri’s eyes widened.

“Yuuri,” Yelena said, patting his cheeks as he did not react. “Yuuri, go outside. Go!”

He did not have to be told twice.

* * *

Never before had the villagers seen their clan leader so furious.

Nikita briefly exchanged a few words with Lilia, not even wincing at the terrified screams that came from Mila’s hut. What it was that they were talking about no one could tell, for they all kept their distance except for Yakov, who watched his brother cautiously. Only when Yuuri stormed out of the hut, his face pale and reflecting the horrors he had just seen, they looked up, and Lilia, being not only a priestess but also a mother, moved to his side and began to speak to him soothingly. Only when she nudged Yuuri gently and pointed across the field to a silver head of hair, the boy dared to lift his head. Amongst the hunters was Viktor, deep in conversation with Georgi and a few others, too busy to notice that his mate was looking for him.

Only when the screams stopped and Mila and Yelena stepped out of the hut, the conversations died down, everyone’s attention on the healer. They made her way over to Nikita, wiping their bloodied hands on their aprons.

“I couldn’t save his leg,” Mila murmured. “He will survive, but he will never hunt again. He’s a bowmaker, so he will be able to work, but it won’t be easy.”

Nikita closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with a deep sigh. “His poor parents,” he murmured. “Thank you, Mila.”

“The thing is,” Mila continued, stepping closer and lowering her voice. “He was one of the best hunters. He would have never approached a wild boar or made it aggressive on purpose. He cannot be responsible for this, Nikita.”

The clan leader looked at her for a moment, not saying a word, before turning his head away, exchanging a look with his wife. “Thank you for telling me,” he said eventually. “You can go.”

Mila nodded and went back to her hut, smiling softly at Yuuri as she walked past him.

“Yelena, Lilia,” Nikita said to his brother without looking at him. “Stay with him.”

Yelena and Lilia frowned but did as they were told, remaining close at Yuuri’s side as Nikita walked down the path to the centre of the village where the others had gathered. No one dared to move, especially not the hunters – for they knew that none of this was still over yet.

Nikita came to stand before the men, letting his gaze wander, his expression unreadable.

“Who is responsible for this,” he said quietly, looking every single one of them in the eye. “In the name of the gods, I demand that they come forward.”

It was deadly quiet in the village, and therefore, they could all hear the terrified sob of the man that stepped forward and knelt before Nikita, his head lowered in shame. “T-T’was me,” he breathed, shaking like a leaf. “We… we were not careful and… w-we f-fooled around a-and… and a-accidentally…”

Nikita closed his eyes for a moment as the boy spoke, his confession true and honest, but nevertheless heartbreaking. Everyone around knew that the two men had been friends, and that one of them was now responsible for almost killing the other was hard to stomach.

“The gods acknowledge your honesty,” Nikita murmured and gave a brief nod. “And in their name, I will pass judgement.”

“I s-submit t-to their w-will,” the boy whispered and buried his hands in the dirt.

Nikita turned away from him, exchanging a nod with the elders. “Twenty-five lashes,” he said.

The elders moved forward, gathering around the young hunter and tearing at his clothing, ripping his furs and shirt off him to expose his back, two of them holding him down as a third carried out the sentence.

A terrified cry filled the air, the cry of the one amongst them who did not yet know all of their ways, but it could barely be heard over the pained screams of the culprit receiving his punishment. But this was how it had always been done – harsh punishment for those that endangered the safety of the clan, a reminder of how brutal, harsh, and unforgiving the north could be, and that even the smallest mistake, the smallest disobedience, could have lethal consequences.

Punishment like this would make sure they would never, ever forget about this again.

As the elders finally let go of him, the young man collapsed, blood streaming down his back and tainting the remains of the snow. His friends came to his rescue, pulling him up and carrying him away. But the rest of them remained where they stood, watching Nikita carefully as he exchanged a few words with the elders.

Yelena’s hand on Yuuri’s shoulder tightened.

“In which group was he?” Nikita called, looking around.

“In mine.”

Viktor was the one to come forward, his steps firm and his gaze determined as he approached his father. In his hand, he held his bow, his knuckles turning white where he gripped it.

He came to stand before his father and bowed his head. “He was in my group, father. It was I who failed to command them accordingly. And for that I shall take responsibility.”

Nikita looked his son in the eye, grey eyes boring into blue ones, the father forcing the son into submission, but not without a fight. There was rebellion in Viktor – Nikita had always known that, yes, had always feared it, even. But when it came to the law of the gods, and the ways of the clan, Viktor’s rebellious nature submitted to the greater good.

“Thirty lashes,” Nikita murmured.

Viktor bowed his head and tossed his bow aside, pulling off his shirt by himself and kneeling on the ground before the elders could even get to him, shaking his head when they attempted to hold him down.

“No,” Yuuri breathed as he realised what was about to happen and jumped forward, but was held back by Yelena and Lilia, their hands keeping him firmly in their grasp and away from the scene. “NO!”

* * *

The screams of his mate rang painfully in Viktor’s ears, but he did not dare to find his face in the crowd, did not dare to look him in the eye. He could not expect Yuuri to understand any of this, to understand their ways, to realise that this had to be done. It did not matter that he was the son of Nikita, and the future leader of the clan. He had failed to command his men accordingly, had failed to protect them, and for that, he had to pay the price and accept punishment. Just like the poor boy’s friend that had caused all of this, he had to take responsibility.

There could not be any exceptions.

“I accept the punishment of the gods,” Viktor said, bowing his head and placing his palms on his thighs, bracing himself for the pain.

He did not even wince as the whip struck him the first time, and he kept his eyes fixed on the ground before him as he heard his mate scream his name, the terror in Yuuri’s voice hurting him more than a whip ever could. And although he knew that it was his father who was wielding the whip, he felt no shame to show himself like this, to accept this punishment publicly. He could survive this – hell, he had survived more. What was a whip, despite the pain it brought, compared to the horrors he had lived through as a child? Compared to the horrors his mother had experienced?

Yuuri’s cries rang in his ears, his heart aching as he kept screaming his name. His mother would comfort him, Viktor thought as he clenched his teeth and his hands curled into fists on his lap, but no sound came over his lips. She would tell him why he had to do this, why this was a question of honour, and a duty to the gods and to his people, too.

The crowd gasped as Viktor fell forward at a particularly hard lashing, but caught himself before he could collapse like the other, forcing himself into a sitting position once more as the punishment went on, the leather of the whip cutting into his flesh, deeper and deeper, the blood flowing down his back, tainting the snow beneath his feet.

* * *

“VIKTOR!” Yuuri screamed, fighting against Yelena’s and Lilia’s grip like a rabid cat, but it was of no use. They kept him firmly in their grasp and would not let him go, no matter how hard he fought, no matter how loud he screamed. Tears streamed down his eyes as he watched his husband being whipped by his own father, each lash of the whip harder than the one before. How could they all just stand there, and remain so calm? How could Yelena endure the sight of her own son being beaten bloody by his own father?

“VIKTOR!” Yuuri cried, fighting once more against Yelena, but it was of no use. She was stronger than him, and held him firmly in her arms.

“It will be over soon,” she said quietly, but her voice wavered, as if she were fighting against herself as well. “Viktor does what the gods demand of him. He is taking punishment like a man. We cannot do anything.”

“Viktor…” Yuuri breathed, his voice breaking for good as he went limp in Yelena’s arms. “Viktor…”

And then, finally, Nikita dropped the whip and stepped away from Viktor, barking at the men to grab their spears and go hunting again, lest they would not starve for a lack of the meat they all so desperately needed.

And finally, finally, Yelena let go of him, and Yuuri began to run towards Viktor.

His husband had risen to his feet again by the time he reached him, pulling his shift over his head.

“Viktor!” Yuuri breathed and was barely able to stop himself from throwing himself into his arms, grabbing his hand instead. “Viktor…“

“Ikimashou,” Viktor murmured, lacing his fingers with Yuuri’s, whose eyes widened as he realised that Viktor was speaking Japanese for his sake. Stunned into silence, he did as he was told, following his husband as they walked back to his hut, Viktor’s gait surprisingly steady. With every step he took, the white shift he wore took on the colour of the blood, but his step never faltered, not even the slightest bit until they finally reached their home.

“Viktor, let me-“ Yuuri said, but Viktor had already opened the door, entering the hut and pulling Yuuri inside. For a moment, neither of them moved nor said a word, Yuuri staring at his husband in terror and fear, not daring to let go of him, or to take a breath.

Viktor swallowed thickly.

And then, within the blink of an eye he collapsed, and began to scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.  
\-------------  
I'm usually not one to ask for such things, but... I'm an absolutely shitty artist. I can't draw AT ALL. But it would interest me how you guys imagine Viktor and Yuuri in this story - their clothing, their demeanour, etc.   
So if any of you draw, I'd be absolutely delighted to see what you see when you read this story.


	8. The Most Endless of Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
The chapter is a little shorter this time. University is killing me and I have some things to deal with that keep me from sleeping. Writing this helps a little.
> 
> Warning: There will be a part in this chapter where Viktor dreams. This will include minor allusions to sexual violence - NONE of it is described, none if it happens to our characters. I understand if you want to skip this part. But please be warned that there might be references to sexual violence in this fic in general. I won't describe any of it, and it won't be part of the plot. At most, it might be people saying that this happened to them.

Never before had Yuuri been so afraid.

Viktor’s screams shook him to the core, the screams of a man that was in immense physical pain. And Viktor had held it back, had held it all back for some reason Yuuri did not understand, had endured it all for the sake of tradition.

“Viktor, I’m so sorry,” Yuuri breathed as he grabbed him by his arms and pulled him up. “Please, Viktor, let me… let me help you…”

With strength he did not know he possessed, he managed to heave Viktor on top of the furs on their bed, his heart breaking into a thousand pieces as his husband cried out in pain. “I’m sorry, my love,” Yuuri whispered, tears streaming down his face as he tried to pull the bloody shift over Viktor’s head, but it was of no use. No matter how many times he tried, it only seemed to cause Viktor even more pain, and so, Yuuri realised he had no other choice but to cut the shift off his body.

“Don’t move, Viktor,” Yuuri whispered as he grabbed the knife with shaking hands. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

The knife went smoothly through the thin fabric as Yuuri cut it, and with every bit of lacerated skin that came uncovered, Yuuri realised the true extent of the lashes, and what they had caused. It would take Viktor days, if not even weeks or months to recover from such punishment, and even then, it would leave terrible marks on his body.

“What have they done to you,” Yuuri breathed in shock, cupping Viktor’s cheeks and kissing his forehead gently. Viktor did not seem to hear him, his face contorted with pain, his breathing shallow.

Yuuri had never felt so helpless before.

But then, he felt the anger rise, an anger he had never known before – and alongside, there was hatred. Hatred for the traditions that were so brutal, hatred for the people who supported such a system, and hatred for the one that had wielded the whip. How could a father do such a horrible thing to his own son? How could Nikita torment Viktor without batting an eye? And how could a mother just stand there and watch?

Yuuri was not willing to accept any of this. No, he had not been raised that way – he had been raised to be gentle, to feel for others, to care for them, and to heal them. In his own clan, there was no such thing as torture as a form of punishment. In the south, they wept for those that were in pain, and did not cause it.

Never before had Yuuri missed his mother so much.

Yes, she would have known what to do in such a situation. She would have comforted him, and would have helped him with his impossible task. Never before had Yuuri been in such a situation without having her nearby, without her reassuring presence. Yuuri was prone to worrying, prone to convincing himself that he was absolutely incapable of anything, that he was a failure in absolutely every way. His mother had always been there for him, had never left him alone.

But she had also blessed Yuuri with a gift. She had taught him everything she knew about healing and the human body, had encouraged him to believe in himself, and to never belittle himself for who he was – but to draw strength from it. And that love, deep, unconditional love, was a powerful force that could heal the most broken of hearts, and mend the most broken of bodies.

And so, Yuuri went to work.

The bag of herbs he had received from his mother on his wedding day had always been safely stored away on top of the cupboard the fire. The only time he had ever opened it had been to use the herbs that helped against the pain of his blood. But it was filled with various other herbs as well, herbs he could not get in the north and that he had therefore to use only sparingly – in absolute emergencies.

Yuuri would waste them all at once if it only helped Viktor.

First, he tossed a handful of herbs into the pot on the fire to leave them to draw. Then, he grabbed the bucket with fresh water they had collected from the river this morning and soaked a cloth in it to clean the wounds on Viktor’s back. Hot tears streamed down his face as Viktor cried out in pain, but he could not stop, for if he did not take care of his wounds properly, they would become inflamed and much, much worse would come to him. Yuuri whispered a thousand apologies, his hands shaking more with every inch of lacerated skin that he cleaned, but there was nothing he could do to ease his pain, except for working as quickly as possible.

When he finished, the cloth had changed its colour from grey to dark red.

Next, he took the pot from the fireplace and poured the mixture into a bowl, cutting more of the herbs into small pieces and adding them to the bowl before stirring in beeswax and oils to create a simple, yet effective ointment. He had seen the wonders it had worked on his mother’s patients, and he could only hope that his own creation would work just as well.

It had to.

Yuuri returned to the bed with shaking hands, taking the rest of the broth he had made with him. “Viktor, please drink this,” he whispered, cupping his husband’s cheek and bringing the bowl to his lips. “I beg you, please, it will make you sleep and take away the pain.” He gently lifted Viktor’s head, pouring the broth into his mouth, sighing in relief as the other man swallowed despite being half unconscious due to the pain. But he managed to make drink Viktor all of it, kissing his forehead desperately when he was done. “I just have to hurt you once more, my love,” he whispered. “Please forgive me.”

Viktor did not respond, merely groaning softly as the potion began to take effect. Yuuri swallowed thickly, getting to his feet again to exchange the empty bowl for the ointment. With the knife, he cut the remaining clean parts of Victor’s shift into strips and spread the ointment on them before carefully pressing them onto Viktor’s back.

Viktor screamed, his hands digging into the furs as the cloth came into contact with his destroyed skin. The sounds he made were inhuman, like the howls of a dying animal fighting against the grip of death, and Yuuri wanted nothing more than to make it stop, to take the pain away from him instead of causing it, but he couldn’t.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” Yuuri whispered between tears, placing strip after strip on Viktor’s lacerated skin. With every touch, Viktor screamed more, his fists pounding against the furs in terror and agony, but Yuuri could not stop until finally, the last strip with ointment had been put into place, and he sank down on his knees beside Viktor and grabbed his hand, kissing his knuckles. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered over and over again. “It’s over now, I promise, you will feel better, I promise…”

But Viktor did not reply, unconscious from either the pain or the potion, or possibly even both. His body had shut down either way, the gods having taken away his consciousness to protect him from going mad, and never before had Yuuri been more grateful to them. Herbs and medicine could only do so much – the rest always lay in the hands of the gods, and the only thing one could do was to pray.

And that was what Yuuri did.

He never moved from where he knelt beside Viktor, holding his hand firmly in his grasp as he whispered prayer after prayer, promising the gods a thousand things. If they only made Viktor healthy again, he would slay the finest beast in their name. If they only made Viktor healthy again, he would gladly sacrifice all of his earned rights. Hell, he would remain barren for the rest of his life and lead a life of loneliness if it only saved his husband. Viktor had only just been given to him, and Yuuri could not imagine living a life without him ever again. He would take all the pain, all the sorrow upon himself if it only helped Viktor.

Yuuri did not know for how long he sat there, whispering his prayers. His legs had gone numb a long time ago, and he could not hear Makkachin as she whined beside him, her paws on the bed and watching worriedly, as if she were waiting for her beloved master to jump up and be his usual, merry self again. Yuuri could not even feel the cold that spread through the hut after the fire had gone out, for he was in his own world, and would not leave his husband’s side.

It was long after nightfall that a pair of hands pulled him away from Viktor and back to a warming fire. Only then, Yuuri woke from his daze, finding himself in Mila’s arms, cold and confused and incredibly upset. But she never let him go, held him like his mother always used to until he had calmed down at least to some degree. Only then she let go of him, wrapping a fur around his shoulders before going to take a look at Viktor. Yuuri watched her anxiously, barely able to remain seated.

“Yuuri,” she said when she was done, kneeling down at his side. “You have done wonderfully. I couldn’t have done it better myself.”

“H-He’s n-not w-waking up,” Yuuri breathed, hot tears streaming down his face as he looked at the healer. “Mila, he sh-should have w-woken-“

“The herbs you gave him are strong,” she told him calmly. “And the gods have taken away his consciousness to shield him from the strongest pain. That is good. When he wakes, he will be in pain still, but it will be tolerable.” Mila took his hands into her own. “You have done all that is humanly possible, Yuuri. Viktor will recover, I promise. Okay?”

She nodded softly at him, smiling when Yuuri managed to do the same in return.

“I couldn’t come earlier,” she said as she moved to prepare a meal for Yuuri, who had not eaten since the morning. “Had I come here during daylight, people would have seen Viktor’s weakness. He would have hated me for it.”

Yuuri looked over at his husband, watching him as he slept. No, Viktor would never hate anyone. Especially not those that only tried to help him.

It was just pride.

This goddamn northern pride.

Yuuri looked down at his lap again where Makkachin had rested her head, absentmindedly running his hands through her soft fur while Mila cooked. It was just a simple meal that she prepared, a hearty soup with some dried strips of meat in it. But when she offered the bowl to Yuuri, he would not take it. His hands simply would not obey.

How could he eat when his husband was in such a terrible state?

“Yuuri, you have to eat something,” Mila said softly, touching his hand that caressed Makkachin’s head. “You need the strength.”

“I don’t understand,” Yuuri whispered, his eyes fixed on Makkachin. “I don’t understand.”

“What do you not understand, Yuuri?” Mila asked.

Yuuri swallowed thickly. “How… how could… this boy… Nikita…” He shut his eyes at the memory of the clan leader wielding the whip, the sound of it breaking Viktor’s skin ringing in his ears, the terrified screams of the boy that had been punished as well, the cries of the mother whose son had been attacked by the boar.

And the blood. So much blood, streaming down Viktor’s back, turning the snow red beneath his feet.

Mila set the bowl aside and clasped her hands on her lap. “Life in the north is harsh, and nature is unforgiving,” she said. “We have to work together. Everyone has to play their part. We must be able to trust one another blindly in order to survive. If only one of us fails, it threatens us all. If only one of us forgets their place…” She trailed off, glancing over at Viktor for a moment. “This kind of punishment demonstrates what is at stake. I do not agree with it, but I see why it is necessary. Everyone who has grown up in the north does.”

Yuuri could not understand it at all, and he did not even want to. Was it not punishment enough for the boy to live with the knowledge that he had caused the mutilation of his friend? Was it not punishment enough to see what he had done for the rest of his life?

“Why Viktor,” Yuuri whispered, his hands digging into Makkachin’s fur. “Why? He has not done anything wrong!”

“He failed to command his group,” Mila answered quietly. “He took responsibility. He showed that he, too, is not without fail. That if he had had better command, none of this would have happened in the first place. Viktor took part of the blame from the boy. And that alone will bring honour to him.”

“Fuck honour!” Yuuri cried out and buried his face in his hands. “How could… how could his own father… despite him being his son…”

“Yuuri,” Mila whispered, reaching out to take him by the shoulders. “Don’t you see? Nikita did lash him personally _because_ he is his son! Had he not done so, people would have accused him of being weak, of placing his son above the law.”

“So he was doing him a favour?!”

“Yuuri-“

“This is sick!” Yuuri shouted through his tears, pushing Mila’s hands away. “How can a father beat his own son so badly?”

“Yuuri, Nikita had no choice!”

“He had one! We all have one!” Yuuri barked. “There is no law of any god that allows such madness, and you know it! You all know it!”

Just then, Viktor groaned, and the sound alone sent cold shivers down Yuuri’s spine. He jumped up and rushed to Viktor’s side, grabbing his hand. “Viktor? Viktor, are you alright?” He breathed, touching his forehead to check the temperature. Fortunately, he had not developed a fever, but he was pale, so incredibly pale.

“Viktor, I’m here,” Yuuri whispered, gently stroking his cheek. “I’m with you. I won’t leave you alone.”

Viktor looked so small, so fragile, nothing like the strong and proud man that Yuuri knew. His breathing was shallow, his lips dry, and his hand limp in Yuuri’s own. But his eyes slowly fluttered open, and Yuuri burst into tears out of sheer relief. “Viktor…”

Mila crouched down beside him and grabbed Viktor’s wrist. “He’s still under the influence of your potion,” she said quietly.

“Viktor, my love, I’m here,” Yuuri whispered, kissing his knuckles and running his hand gently through Viktor’s silver locks. “I won’t leave you alone.”

Viktor’s eyes fell shut again, his fingers curling around Yuuri’s out of sheer instinct; a silent declaration of love that needed no words.

“You should eat something,” Mila said softly, putting her arms around him to guide him back to the fire. “And then go to sleep, yes? I’ll come again tomorrow and check his bandages. But I’m sure I won’t need to do much.”

Yuuri let her take him back to the fire and ate the soup she had made for him. It was tasty, warm, and filling, and he was sure that in any other situation, he would have been able to enjoy it more. But Mila did not seem to mind. She merely smiled at him as she prepared to leave again, glancing at Viktor once more.

“He is lucky to have you, you know,” she said softly. “He was so alone. And now he’s found his other half in you. That is rare enough for most of us.”

And with that, she was gone.

Yuuri finished his meal and made sure Makkachin’s bowl was filled before undressing himself and approaching their bed. Climbing over Viktor with greatest care, he settled at his side and wrapped the fur around himself, making sure that Viktor’s legs and feet were covered as well. Lastly, he laced their fingers together and closed his eyes.

“I will never let them hurt you ever again,” he whispered, burying his face in Viktor’s hair. “For as long as I shall live. I swear it now and I shall keep it forever. As the gods are my witnesses. No one will hurt you ever again.” He would never let such punishment come upon Viktor again, would never allow anyone to keep him from his husband again. He would shield him with his own body, would take any punishment, any beating, if it only kept Viktor safe.

And with that promise given to the gods and to his husband, Yuuri fell into a restless sleep.

* * *

Viktor knew that it had to be a dream, for he was a little boy again, tucked away in his mother’s arms.

Her bosom was not as soft as it used to be. She had lost weight over the course of the weeks they had been trapped in this horrible cage on the cart, together with the others. All the food, the disgusting scraps they had tossed at them, she had given them all to him, feeding her little boy her own ration. The bread had been dry and mouldy, and Viktor had cried, for he had not wanted to eat such things. But his mother had shoved them down his throat before his cries could become too loud, and Viktor had quickly realised that this was all he was going to get. That the men sitting around the fires at night, eating the good bread and the fresh fish, were not going to share with them.

They were mean, and Viktor was terribly afraid of them. From the moment they had tossed them into the cage on the cart, he had tried to hide from them, burying his face in his mother’s bosom and begging the gods to take these men away. Whenever they came close to the cart, they would grab at his mother, laugh at her, and make remarks that had his mother trembling in fear. One time, when a particularly disgusting man had tried to grab her face through the wooden bars, she had bit him, and that had resulted in the man pouring ice-cold water over them in the middle of the night. His mother had screamed, and had shielded him with her own body, protecting him from the water and the icy wind.

That night, her lips had turned blue, and she had gone very, very still. Viktor had cried, his little fists grabbing her shift and tugging on it, not understanding why his mother did not move, why she would not hold him. Only then, someone had come, and one of the nasty men had demanded her to be taken to the fire. Another woman on the cart had held him back as they took his mother from him and dropped her by the fire. With their hands, the women had kept Viktor’s mouth shut, had held him and had tried to comfort him until they brought his mother back at the break of dawn, wrapped into a scratchy blanket. Viktor cried as they shoved her back into the cage, and he crawled into her lap, tugging on her shift and begging her to respond.

Her arms came around him, and her cold lips kissed his head.

Viktor was too little to understand why these men hated them so much. But he saw that whilst they never hesitated to hurt the other women, dragging them by the hair into the woods at night, they never did the same to his mother. Instead, they would run their dirty hands through his mother’s beautiful golden hair, and eventually, through his own, too. Late at night, his mother would whisper stories to him to distract him from the screams. She would tell them that their hair was magical, that it was so bright because it had been touched by the goddess of the moon, and that their hair would protect them.

What the men wanted with their hair, he learnt in another way.

It had been in the darkest of nights that his mother woke him, waking him with the softest of kisses and whispering to him to be a good boy, to be quiet, and to hold onto her at all costs, no matter what would happen. Viktor had not understood what she meant, but his mother sounded so serious that he had only nodded, clutching her shift as she lifted him into her arms.

How she had managed to open the wooden cage he had not known. But he knew that they were running away, running from the bad men that were sleeping around the fire, drunken on beer and wine. And that if he made a sound, just the smallest sound, they would wake and come after them.

It was so cold, so terribly cold, and his mother was only in a shift, but she was running like the wind. Her feet were bare and bloody, the ground beneath them hard. But his mother was flying, flying like the wind, her little boy pressed against her chest.

And then he heard the dogs, their howling in the distance. His mother stopped, changing her direction, running the other way in the darkness of the forest, the twigs scratching her face and tangling in her hair but protecting Viktor from it all. The dogs were howling louder and louder, and Viktor whined, afraid of the beasts just as he was afraid of the men. There were their shouts, angry shouts, echoing through the forest.

His mother screamed and they fell, Viktor crying in fear as his mother curled around him, the dogs coming closer, surrounding them, and with them, the men they had run from.

“Thought you could escape us, you bitch?” The man above them sneered, grabbing his mother by the hair and pulling her up. “You and your little shit there.” He reached out to grab Viktor, but his mother screamed at them, throwing herself between the man and her son.

“Don’t you dare to touch him!” She yelled.

“Or what?” The man laughed, grabbing her by the hair again and pulling her up, until their faces were only centimetres apart. “Maybe I’ve got to teach you a lesson, eh? Wanted to check what northern bitches were like, anyway… one of the good sort, are you?” He let his eyes wander over her body. “Maybe if you’re a little nice to me I won’t cut your boy’s throat, how does that sound?”

“Don’t you dare to touch him,” she hissed, but there was fear in her eyes, fear for her son, who sat on the ground crying, afraid of the dogs growling at him.

The man grabbed her jaw, pressing her against a tree. “Where are your gods now, woman?” He hissed into her ear, then glanced down at the crying boy. “Cut his throat.”

“NO!” His mother screamed, and Viktor cried harder, terrified of the bad man, terrified because of his mother’s screams.

“Let go of that woman!”

In an instant, the man let go of her and she fell to the ground, shielding her little boy with her body as another man approached them. Viktor recognised him as one of the men that had taken them from home in the first place, and that he was just as mean as the others. But the man pushed the other man away and shouted at him.

“Do you have any idea what she’s worth?” He barked, grabbing a handful of his mother’s hair and shaking it in his fist. “Blonde! Almost golden! And the boy too! We can sell them for a fucking fortune!”

“Am I fucking her hair or what?!”

“We can’t sell a fucking pregnant slave, you moron!” The man shouted. “I’m not risking that! Hire a whore from somewhere or fuck a tree stump if you’re so desperate! And who left that goddamn cage open?!”

When no one replied, the man crouched down beside mother and son, yanking her head back by the hair and studying her face in the light of the torches.

“If you run again,” he hissed, “I’ll take you to the next slave market. You and your kid. I’ll sell you to the worst brute that I can find. And your kid here I’ll separate from you, and auction him off to the other side of the world. Gotcha?”

His mother never ran again.

* * *

There was a hand in his hair, gentle and caring, so tender as if he were made of glass. The hand was warm, its fingers gently brushing his cheek every now and then, followed by the softest of lips against his skin, and whispered words that he could not understand. But they were spoken with such affection, with such love, that his heart ached at the sound of them, and Viktor knew that whoever it was that sat with him, and took care of him, was someone inherently good.

It was not his mother’s hand, but the one of his mate. The gods, he remembered as he slowly came back to his senses, had given him the most wonderful mate; a blessed being, walking amongst mortals. He was not worthy of such a mate. Not worthy of such love, his unconditional love, his kind and caring nature. Not worthy of his complete devotion.

But his heart was in the hands of his mate. And there, it was cradled most gently, and under the most loving protection.

There were more kisses to his skin, to his cheeks, his forehead, his knuckles, and Viktor could not help but sigh.

Yuuri.

Yuuri.

His Yuuri.

His mate.

And there were his eyes – his big, beautiful brown eyes that shone with worry as Viktor opened his own. Those gorgeous eyes that suddenly overflowed with tears of joy, followed by a wave of the most beautiful words that Viktor had ever heard but could not understand. There were Yuuri’s lips again, this time on his own that were so incredibly dry.

And there was pain. Burning, haunting pain, spreading from his back through his entire body, and the memories came back with full force.

“Viktor,” Yuuri whispered, his thumb caressing his cheek ever so tenderly. “You hear me?”

Viktor looked at him, at his beautiful, wonderful mate, and knew he would be alright.

“I hear you,” he whispered back, lacing their fingers together. “I’m sorry. I could not bring you the fur you deserve.”

A frown appeared on Yuuri’s beautiful face; a deep, anxious frown, that was promptly followed by a rapid shaking of his head and a thousand kisses to his lips. “Not sorry, Viktor, no,” Yuuri begged. “No fur, no elk. Just you. I want you, not fur. Just Viktor, not elk, not fur, always Viktor…”

His mate was inconsolable, and only as Viktor managed to lift his hand and touch his cheek, Yuuri would shut up, but the worried expression remained on his face nonetheless.

Yuuri was pale, he noticed, with dark shadows under his eyes, as if he had not been sleeping at all, or at least not very well.

The day of the hunt should have been a huge triumph.

Instead, it had all descended into chaos.

There was a gentle knock on their door, followed by Makkachin barking and Mila appearing at Yuuri’s side a moment later. Her hair was wet from the rain that was pouring down on their village, but she did not seem to care, as her expression changed from concern to sheer relief at the sight of him being awake.

“Good morning,” Viktor said quietly.

Mila huffed. “Good morning indeed. Do you know how lucky you are to see the light of day and not develop a fever overnight?”

“I’m happy to see you too,” Viktor gave back with a breathless laugh, wincing as sharp pain flashed through his body, causing him to hiss.

“Viktor?” Yuuri asked worriedly, grabbing his hand tightly.

“I’ll take a look at your back, okay?” Mila said, taking off her cloak and exchanging a few words with Yuuri. Yuuri swallowed thickly, but nodded and took the cloak from Mila, going back to the fire to sit there with Makkachin.

“I don’t know how much you remember from last night,” Mila said as she carefully took the strips off Viktor’s back. “But I can assure you, Yuuri was a mess. He was barely able to leave your side.”

Viktor hissed as she removed the bandages, fingers digging into the furs beneath him. “B-But you surely told him that your medicine would work,” he managed to say, taking deep breaths to be able to bear the pain.

“Eh?” Mila raised an eyebrow and lowered her hands. “I didn’t do that. That was Yuuri entirely, you dumbass.”

Viktor opened his mouth, but found that there were no words to express whatever he had wanted to say. Instead, his gaze flickered to Yuuri who sat by the fire with his back to them, stirring in the pot and quietly talking to Makkachin.

“Yuuri took care of my injuries?”

Mila nodded. “He prepared an ointment from the herbs his mother gave him, and fed you the broth as medicine. I could not have done it better myself. Now hold still, I need to take off these bandages…”

Viktor did as he was told, but kept his eyes fixed on Yuuri, watching his beloved prepare something to eat whilst keeping Makkachin entertained. He remembered very little of what had happened after the lashing, only that he had returned with Yuuri to their hut. After that, his mind had gone blank.

Of course it had been Yuuri to take care of him in the first place. If Mila had come to him right away, it would have been a sign of his weakness. Any other man would have had to suffer until nightfall, when the healer could come to them without risking being seen. But Viktor had been lucky.

He had his Yuuri. His wonderful, strong, gorgeous, loving Yuuri, who had taken care of him despite being terrified, despite having to hurt him.

Viktor didn’t even want to imagine what horrors his beloved had gone through, just for his sake.

“You are a lucky bastard,” Mila said when she had taken off the last bandage and took a look at Viktor’s back. “No inflammation.” She quickly pressed a hand against his forehead. “And no fever, either. Yuuri’s medicine worked its magic. But you have to stay in bed at least two more days, you hear me?” She reached into her bag and pulled out a small jar and a long, grey cloth, large enough to cover his back at least three times. “Now try to sit up. Eh, Yuuri?” She called, and within the blink of an eye, Yuuri was back at his side, his eyes wide at the sight of his husband’s back.

“We’ll get you into a sitting position now,” Mila said, placing her hands on one of Viktor’s shoulders. “Yuuri, help me there.”

Yuuri nodded and put his hand on Viktor’s other shoulder, slowly pushing him up into a sitting position. Viktor hissed at the sharp pain as the muscles in his back tensed up, but he managed to suppress a pained groan for Yuuri’s sake, and held still as Mila applied her ointment to his back. Yuuri’s hands curled around his own, and Viktor laced their fingers together, smiling at his beloved reassuringly.

“I’ll be fine,” he said softly, bringing Yuuri’s hands to his lips and kissing his knuckles. “Thanks to you, _solnyshko_. All thanks to you.”

Viktor was not sure if Yuuri truly understood, but Yuuri’s eyes watered at his words, and he leant forward to press a tender kiss to Viktor’s lips.

“I’m right here, you know,” Mila huffed. “Viktor, raise your arms, will you?”

They broke apart with a blush on their cheeks, and Viktor carefully raised his arms as much as he could to let Mila wrap the cloth around his torso. When she was done, she secured it with a blunt needle, and guided Viktor into a lying position on his stomach again. Yuuri quickly folded a fur a few times for Viktor to rest his head on, for which Viktor thanked him with another kiss to the back of his hand.

“God, you two are so fucking sweet it makes me want to puke,” Mila groaned and rolled her eyes. “Alright, I’ll go and check on Roza and her boy. She and Anatoly send their best wishes, by the way,” she added, patting Viktor’s head as if he were not the future clan leader but just another little boy.

“Thank you, Mila,” Viktor said.

“Yeah, kiss my arse later,” Mila hummed and rose, Yuuri walking to the door with her to see her off.

Viktor sighed, closing his eyes for a moment until he heard his mate return. When he opened his eyes again, he found Yuuri kneeling by his side again. His gorgeous brown eyes were filled with such devotion, with the purest kind of love, that Viktor could not help but ask himself how he deserved such a mate. What had he done to gain the gods’ favour? Why had they blessed him with the most divine of beings?

“Hungry?” Yuuri asked, glancing at the pot on the fire. “I did food.”

Viktor smiled gently. “Food sounds lovely now.”

And that was how Viktor found himself getting fed by his mate, accepting every spoonful gratefully. It never failed to amaze Viktor how well Yuuri could cook. Each meal he made was delicious, spiced with herbs that Viktor would not even think of cooking with. Perhaps he could ask his mother to lend them some of the terribly expensive rice that his father had brought them a while ago, so that Yuuri could eat something from his home.

When he had finished his meal, Yuuri carried the bowl away and fed Makkachin before returning to Viktor’s side and lying down beside him, resting his head on the furs, lacing their fingers together, simply looking Viktor in the eye.

Viktor decided then and there to learn Japanese, and become so fluent that he would be able to converse with Yuuri with ease, so fluent that he could write poems and songs to praise his mate’s beauty to the Heavens.

Viktor shuffled closer to Yuuri as much as he could, and pressed a tender kiss to his lips. Yuuri’s lips immediately parted under his touch, moaning softly into his mouth and burying his hands in Viktor’s hair. In any other situation, Viktor would have ravished him then and there, would have pulled off Yuuri’s clothing and taken him until his mate screamed in ecstasy. But all of this would have to wait until he was feeling at least somewhat better.

For now, gentle and loving kisses would have to suffice.

* * *

Yuuri had not even realised that he had dozed off at Viktor’s side until he was woken by vehement knocking on their front door. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, looking down at his husband who had fallen asleep after they had kissed for some time, exhausted by the pain and lulled to sleep by the medicine Yuuri had given him.

How could a single being be so perfect, even while sleeping?

The knocking continued, and Yuuri slipped out of bed, walking across the room to answer the door, finding behind it the very last person he wanted to see at the moment.

Nikita stood outside, looking down at Yuuri in mild surprise, as if he had not expected that it would be him who opened the door. A cold shiver ran down Yuuri’s spine as their eyes met, Nikita’s grey eyes piercing into Yuuri’s brown ones – and not for the first time Yuuri noticed that despite the fact Viktor and his father looked very much alike, they could not be more different from each other. For when Yuuri looked at Viktor, there was nothing but warmth and love to be found in his gaze.

When he looked at Nikita, however, he could see a battlefield.

“Yuuri,” Nikita said in greeting, glancing over Yuuri’s shoulder into the hut, but would not enter without being invited in. “Where is Viktor?”

“In bed,” Yuuri answered curtly. “He is feeling better already, but-“

“Good,” Nikita interrupted him. “If he is feeling better, I expect him to come down to the Elders’ Circle now. There are important things that need to be discussed.”

Yuuri blinked. “I… Forgive me,” he said, inclining his head to his father-in-law and hating every second of it, “but Viktor is in no state to get up at all. He needs bed rest for at least three days.”

Nikita let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Now, don’t joke with me, Yuuri,” he said, crossing his arms. “The elders expect Viktor. Get him to his feet.”

“No.”

Yuuri knew that Nikita would never enter their home without permission, for another couple’s hut was a sacred space, and entering it without being invited in would be viewed as an act of hostility and violence. But at the angry spark in Nikita’s eyes, Yuuri wondered for a moment if his father-in-law would overstep the boundaries.

Instead, Nikita looked Yuuri up and down thoroughly before speaking again.

“This is not up for discussion, Yuuri,” he said, all friendliness gone from his voice. “Viktor belongs to the Circle of Elders and will attend.”

“Viktor is injured and will not attend,” Yuuri replied firmly, not backing down.

“Says who?”

“Says his mate.”

They stared at each other, neither of them saying a word for a very long moment, not caring about the icy wind hitting their faces, either of them refusing to give in. Nikita might have been his father-in-law, and the leader of the clan he belonged to now, but he was also the one who had wielded the whip.

He was responsible for Viktor’s suffering.

“Yuuri, his reputation will suffer from this,” Nikita said warningly. “If people hear he won’t attend because of his injuries, they might speak badly of him.”

“Well, we both know who we owe this to, don’t we.”

Nikita opened his mouth, but it seemed that he had lost his tongue. He glared down at Yuuri, and for a moment, Yuuri was sure he would strike him.

“This will have consequences,” he hissed, glancing over Yuuri’s shoulder once more before walking away, with Yuuri’s eyes fixed on his back until he was out of sight. Only then did Yuuri go back inside and lean against the door with a heavy sigh once it was closed, only then realising that he was shaking, and he shut his eyes.

Had he truly said all those things to Nikita? To his father-in-law? To his clan leader?

“Yuuri?”

Yuuri opened his eyes again at the sound of Viktor’s voice, so full of concern that he forgot about Nikita entirely. He pulled away from the door and went back to their bed, sitting down beside his husband who had pushed himself up on his elbows with the greatest effort.

“Don’t,” Yuuri said softly, gently pushing him down onto the furs again. His husband could be so terribly stubborn sometimes.

Viktor gestured at the door and looked at Yuuri questioningly.

“Your father,” Yuuri said in Russian. “Nikita.”

Viktor’s eyes widened and he tried to sit up again, promptly crying out in pain.

“Viktor, no!” Yuuri sighed, grabbing him by the shoulders and helping him to lie down once more. “You will stay here. You won’t get up. I won’t allow it.”

“Yuuri-“ Viktor protested.

“Mila said no,” Yuuri replied firmly. “And I say no, too. You hear me? Nyet.”

Viktor blinked for a few seconds before clearing his throat and giving in, lying down once more as he was told by his mate. Yuuri sighed, lowering his head and kissing Viktor’s hair.

“You don’t even want to know what I said to him,” he whispered in Japanese. “But he won’t hurt you again. I will not allow it.”

Viktor did not reply. Instead, he reached for Yuuri’s hand and held it close to his heart, his thumb brushing across the very spot where their wedding bond had bound them together. Yuuri’s heart ached at the sweet gesture.

“I love you, Viktor,” he whispered and nuzzled his beloved’s hair. “I love you so, so much.”

And the worst thing was that Viktor understood none of it at all.


	9. To Be a Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies!  
This chapter is shorter than the others - I have had terrible weeks at university, and I just want this awful year to end. One more week until Christmas break, thankfully...
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!
> 
> Warning: A hunt, including the killing of an animal.

Three days later, Viktor emerged from their hut again.

The curious glances of the other villagers thrown at him did not upset him as much as he would have thought. But he knew that on the one hand, they were concerned for his health – and on the other hand, concerned because he had not been seen for three days.

It seemed that Yuuri’s argument with his father had not done the rounds, but the mere fact that he had not attended the Elders’ Circle was something so out of the ordinary that people could not have helped but notice. Viktor felt their eyes on him as he walked with Yuuri, his mate close to him at all times, but did his best not to show in how much pain he still was in. Yuuri had not been too happy when he had insisting on leaving their bed that morning, but had not actively held him back either. Instead, he had helped Viktor change the bandages and had reapplied the soothing ointment before helping him dress and sitting down with him for breakfast.

But now, they were men on a mission, for there was something that had kept Viktor’s thoughts occupied the whole time, and he would not be able to rest until he had faced his demons. There was a boy he had failed to protect, and who would suffer the consequences of his failure for the rest of his life.

Fabiyan was his name, he had told Yuuri after managing to explain what he wanted to do. Not yet a man, but also not a boy anymore. Sixteen years old, on the brink to adulthood, a talented bowmaker like his father, engaged to a girl from a neighbouring village.

And now crippled for life.

His father, the bowmaker, greeted Viktor and Yuuri at the door, bowing his head in gratitude for their visit before letting them in. The hut was small, and attached to the workshop, but it was warm and cosy, with a fire in the centre and a bed prepared right next to it to keep the person lying in it warm. Fabiyan was asleep, his chest rising and falling evenly. His mother looked up when they came in, immediately getting to her feet to let Viktor take her seat by the fire. At Yuuri, she briefly smiled, and offered him a seat as well that the young man gratefully took.

Viktor sat down beside the boy without a word, regarding him thoughtfully. He had never seen the boy looking so pale, so fragile, so broken. Usually, Fabiyan was one of the strongest, always in a good mood, always cheerful. 

“Adrian comes here every day,” Fabiyan’s mother said softly as she poured Yuuri a drink. “Despite the beating he got. He says it is nothing compared to… to the pain he caused his friend.”

Viktor nodded lightly, touching Fabiyan’s shoulder. “Adrian’s humility honours him,” he said, thinking of the boy that had received lashing, just like him. Not as bad as him, but still. “Does he sleep most of the time?” He asked Fabiyan’s father.

The older man nodded. “Mila gave him something strong against the pain. It would have him sleeping most of the time, she said. I guess it’s good that way,” he added in a low voice and let out a shaky breath. “He shall sleep and recover. If he were to see his mother weep like this…” He exchanged a look with his wife, who dabbed her eyes. “Fabiyan is a good boy, Viktor. Seeing us upset would only make him upset, too.”

“He only ever thinks of others,” his mother said softly. “Never of himself.”

“He probably won’t even be upset when he learns that his engagement has been annulled,” his father muttered bitterly.

Viktor frowned. “It has been annulled? But it seemed set in stone. The daughter of-“

“They don’t want their daughter to marry a cripple,” Fabiyan’s father said dryly. “We can’t blame them, of course. But it’s a shame. Fabiyan liked her. Hell, he likes everyone.”

Viktor sighed and gave Fabiyan’s shoulder a gentle pat. “He’s a good lad,” he murmured. “I… I should have prevented this from happening in the first place. It is my fault.”

“It is no one’s fault,” Fabiyan whispered, coughing softly and opening his eyes.

“Fabiyan!” His mother cried and rushed back to his side, taking his hand. “My darling boy, are you well?”

“Mama, you are always worrying,” the boy said with a cough, but smiled as he spoke. His gaze flickered to Viktor. “I heard you were punished. Like Adrian.”

Viktor patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. How are you feeling?”

“Lighter,” Fabiyan said, glancing down at the furs under which his legs were hidden. “Mila and Lilia did what they could. I’m grateful that the gods left me my life. And that I was meant to be a bowmaker, not a farmer. That way, I can still work.”

Viktor was amazed how positive the boy was, despite the terrible turn his life had taken. He was pale, yes, and incredibly weak still, but there was determination in his eyes; determination to make the best of his life, regardless of the circumstances.

“But if Adrian-“ His mother began, but Fabiyan shook his head.

“No, Mama,” he said quietly. “It was not Fabiyan’s fault. Or Viktor’s. It was a boar that took my leg from me. Not them.”

Viktor exchanged a look with the boy’s mother, who seemed at a loss for words at that.

“I’ll do my best to be up on my feet—well, up on my foot again,” Fabiyan said. “I… I just hope I didn’t cause too much trouble or… or pain.” He glanced at Yuuri, who was sitting by the fire and showering the family’s cat in affection. “Adrian said that he screamed when you were punished, Viktor,” he murmured. “That he screamed louder than any man ever could.”

A cold shiver ran down Viktor’s spine at the memory. Yuuri’s screams had shaken him to the core, and had haunted him in his restless dreams. It was something he never wanted to hear again, for he knew now that this was how eternal punishment had to sound like.

“Is he alright?” Fabiyan asked eventually. “I mean… he doesn’t know all our ways yet…”

“He’s managing,” Viktor replied, returning his attention to Fabiyan. “I don’t know how to help him, though. It’s… it is complicated with the language barrier between us, but we will find a way. Mila teaches him.”

“And he is a healer, too, right?” Fabiyan asked. “Ah, Yuuri?”

Yuuri looked up, putting down the cat and joining Viktor at Fabiyan’s bed.

“Is Viktor okay?” Fabiyan asked, speaking slowly and clearly. “Is his back okay?”

Yuuri listened carefully, his face lighting up when he understood. “Ah, Viktor’s back is… is little good,” he said quietly and took Viktor’s hand, whose heart ached at the sweet, simple gesture. “Not good.”

Fabiyan blinked. “Then why the hell are you here, Viktor?” He asked. “Should you not be in bed?”

Viktor smiled sadly. “We both know I cannot do that. Not with that father.”

Fabiyan sighed, nodding knowingly before he winced in pain, the medication Mila had given him losing its effect.

“Perhaps you should go now,” his mother said to Viktor, putting an arm around her son. “He needs his medicine and sleep.”

Viktor nodded and rose, pulling Yuuri to his feet with him. His own back hurt terribly as he stood, the ointment’s cooling effect slowly wearing off. He had to lie down soon, or he would break down in the middle of the village. Yuuri seemed to feel it, too, for he held tightly onto him as if to make sure that whilst on his watch, Viktor would not fall. They thanked Fabiyan’s parents for their hospitality and left the hut, stepping out into the sunlight that was bathing the village in a golden shimmer.

They had walked down the path towards their home when Viktor spotted his uncle on the training grounds, supervising a group of boys attempting their first shot with bow and arrow. Not too long ago, Yura had been one of them, Viktor thought – stumbling over his own feet but proudly holding his very first bow.

“Yuuri, my love,” Viktor said, gently squeezing his mate’s hand. “I want to exchange a few words with Yakov. Can you wait for me at home? I promise it won’t take long.”

Yuuri blinked at him in confusion, and Viktor realised he had spoken in a far too complicated manner for his mate to understand. And so, he tried again.

“I want to speak with Yakov,” he said slowly, pointing at his uncle up the hill. “Can you wait at home?” He gestured at their hut in the distance.

Immediately, Yuuri huffed and shook his head, linking his arm with Viktor’s as if to say “the hell I will do.”

Viktor sighed, albeit touched by Yuuri’s determination to take care of him. “Yuuri, I’ll be fine,” he promised. “I will sit when I talk to him. Do you understand?” He pointed at himself and then up the hill, at one of the tree stumps. “I will sit. Not stand.”

Yuuri hesitated, clearly unhappy with the situation altogether, but eventually, he nodded.

“You sit,” he said emphatically, giving Viktor’s hand a firm squeeze. “You go slow. No run. No stupid things.”

Viktor laughed and cupped Yuuri’s cheeks, giving him a loving and tender kiss.

“I promise,” he whispered against his lips before letting go of him. “Wait for me at home. Yes?”

Yuuri nodded and gave him another quick peck on the corner of his mouth before letting him go with the most reluctant expression that Viktor had ever seen on his face.

“It won’t take long,” Viktor promised and kissed Yuuri’s hands once more before their ways parted, and he made his way up the hill to the training grounds.

Yakov stood at the side, his arms crossed and his expression solemn, just the way Viktor knew him. Indeed, his uncle rarely smiled or even laughed, which had gotten him the name “The eternal angry” amongst the clans of the north. But behind his serious façade, there was a compassionate heart, and the greatest teacher that Viktor had ever known. It had been Yakov who had raised him when his father had been away. Yakov had been the one to teach him the ways of their people, how to fight, and how to be a man. From him, Viktor had gotten his values, and it was Yakov whom he trusted the most.

Yakov turned his head, acknowledging his presence with a brief nod as Viktor sat down on one of the tree stumps beside a bunch of little boys that looked at him in awe. Viktor admired their little bows and assured them that no, he had indeed never seen such an accomplished weapon whilst Yakov instructed their peers in how to shoot an arrow. Once they were done, Yakov told them to gather their arrows and eventually joined Viktor where he sat, greeting him with a brief nod.

“They are good, aren’t they?” Viktor said, watching the boys squeal and laugh as they gathered their little bows and arrows. When he had been that age, he had lived far away – and his mother had been a slave, protecting him from the world.

Yakov huffed. “Maybe two or three of them,” he said. “The rest of them are hopeless.” But Viktor knew it better. Yakov treated all of his students equally, and trained every single one of them as best as he could.

“You were visiting Fabiyan?” Yakov asked, crossing his arms. “How is he?”

Viktor met his uncle’s gaze. “He’s going to be fine, but… there is only one way to make up for this.”

“Indeed. Have you spoken with Adrian?”

“Not yet. But I will.”

“You should do it soon.”

“I will.”

“Your absence from the Elders’ Circle has been noticed,” Yakov remarked. “Your father was anything but pleased.”

Viktor sighed. “I can imagine.”

Yakov huffed. “He had this expression on his face that he always has when someone dares to talk back. And there are only two people in this village besides myself that dare to talk back.”

“Perhaps my mother cut him short over breakfast,” Viktor mused with a chuckle, but Yakov’s expression remained stern.

“I’m not talking about Yelena,” he said. “He only spoke to one other person before the gathering, and that was your mate.”

Viktor stared at him for a long moment.

“You mean Yuuri?” He asked and began to laugh. “No, I don’t think he talked back. I bet he…” He trailed off, suddenly realising that what he was saying was making no sense.

In fact, Yuuri was definitely the type to be unafraid in the face of what he despised.

And what could he despise more, after all this, than the one that had wielded the whip that had destroyed his back?

“Good morning to you too,” Yakov said gruffly. “I don’t know what your mate said to him, but it pissed him off in a way that had him bark at every elder in the bloody Circle.”

Viktor scratched the back of his head. “I assume that… that this had something to do with me being injured,” he said slowly. “Yuuri is incredibly protective of me and… he was so… so upset.”

“Can anyone blame him?” Yakov replied, much to Viktor’s surprise. “He does not know our ways. And even if he did – your father’s choice of punishment was too harsh. Thirty lashes are inordinate as a punishment for something you are essentially not to blame for.”

“I failed to command-“

“How can you be blamed for a boar gone wild, Viktor?” Yakov interrupted him curtly. “Your father’s judgement is not always sound. You know it.”

Viktor did not know what to reply to that – he was too much the son of his father and too much aware of his standing to criticise him. His father was the leader of their clan, the one who had united all clans of the north, and liberated them all. But he also knew that Yakov was right. His father was not without imperfections, he had flaws in his personality, and in his way to lead. But everything he did, Viktor had always told himself, was for the greater good.

“If I were you,” Yakov continued, “I would keep an eye on Yuuri. And keep him away from your father.”

At that, Viktor laughed in disbelief. “Why? My father wants only the best for us.”

Yakov looked at him, and Viktor believed to find a look of genuine pity in his uncle’s eyes.

“No, he does not.”

* * *

As a teenager, Yuuri had often left the house in the early mornings, with only his bow and a bag full of arrows as his companions. For hours, he would roam the forests behind their village, enjoying the sounds of nature, the smell of the trees, the feeling of the wind in his face. And at some point, he would return home with a partridge, and his mother would prepare the bird for a good dinner. Yes, his mother’s meals had always been the best, and he missed the food of his home greatly. But it was difficult to find the right ingredients in the north, and so, Yuuri had to be satisfied with the things he could get.

But then, Yuri showed up at their door shortly after he had parted from Viktor, carrying a pouch filled with white and brown grains.

“What’s this?” He asked his young brother-in-law in Russian as the pouch was dropped into his lap, and Yuri flopped down by the fire.

“Rice.”

“Rice?”

“Yeah, rice. I don’t know what’s rice in Japanese,” Yuri groaned, rolling his eyes.

Yuuri opened the pouch and peeked inside, gasping at the sight of the familiar food. “_Kome!_” He called out in excitement. “Rice! Thank you!”

“Yeah, that’s what I said-“ Yuri groaned, but Yuuri had already hugged him tightly.

“Thank you! Thank you!” Yuuri beamed at him as he let go of the teenager, then grabbing the pouch again and running his hands through the grains in excitement. Now he only needed some pork, breadcrumbs, vegetables, and stock made from fish, and he could make katsudon. He could finally cook his favourite food for his husband.

“Where is Viktor?” Yuri asked from his spot by the fire, watching Yuuri move around in the hut.

“With Yakov,” Yuuri replied, glad that the boy usually stuck to composing simple, short sentences when speaking to him. “Talk.”

“Is he okay?” Yuri wanted to know, seeming concerned now. “He…”

Yuuri bit his lip, but did his best to smile at the boy. “Not bad, not good,” he said. “He can walk. But…” For the rest he wanted to say he lacked the words, but fortunately, Yuri seemed to understand him nonetheless. He said something in return, mentioning his father, but Yuuri could not tell what. Just then, the door opened again and Viktor returned, greeted by an excited Makkachin who was fortunately smart enough not to jump at him like she usually did.

“Viktor!” Yuuri said and got up, taking his hand and leading him over to their bed so he could sit down on the furs and relax his back. Viktor greeted his brother with a quick wave of his hand, the boy watching him worriedly as Yuuri sat Viktor down and exchanged a few quick words with him.

To an outsider, they were speaking a language of their own.

“Viktor, look what Yura brought me,” he said happily and showed his husband the pouch filled with rice. “I’ll cook something nice for us tonight, yes? I just need to collect the rest of the ingredients.”

Viktor just smiled at him, happy that he was happy, and kissed Yuuri’s knuckles.

Yuri made a retching sound behind them, but they only laughed.

“Yura?” Viktor asked, pointing at the rice.

Yuuri nodded. “He… bring,” he confirmed, causing his husband to grin proudly at his brother.

“So sweet,” Viktor remarked, earning a shout of rage from his little brother.

“Don’t,” Yuuri laughed. “Viktor, Yura is your brother. Be nice.”

“Fucking listen to your mate,” Yuri huffed and rose from his seat by the fire to go to his brother. Yuuri chuckled, moving aside to let the brothers talk and put the rice away. He would prepare his husband a proper feast with the rice and the meat they had gotten from their neighbours. It would probably not taste like his mother’s katsudon, but he had watched her and helped her so many times that he would surely be able to get it somewhat right.

The brothers talked for a while, the sound of surprisingly soft Russian filling the hut. Yuuri did not know what they were talking about, but he could tell that his namesake was worried. The word ‘father’ was used frequently between them, and Yuuri wondered if his argument with Nikita had spread through the village.

“Eh, Katsudon?”

Yuri appeared at his side, his arms crossed over his chest. “My father,” he said slowly. “Angry. Mad. Pissed. You understand?”

Yuuri blinked, but nodded, a cold shiver running down his spine at what he thought would come next.

But Yuri began to grin. “Good job, Katsudon,” he said and walked out of their hut, leaving behind an utterly confused Yuuri.

Behind him, on their bed, Viktor chuckled. “Solnyshko?” He called softly, holding out his arms.

Yuuri followed his call, joining him on the bed and taking a seat beside him, leaning into Viktor’s touch ever so carefully. The last thing he wanted was to hurt him when he was in such a terrible state. But Viktor seemed not to have any of it, and pulled Yuuri into his arms, holding him against his chest.

“Yuuri,” Viktor sighed softly, nuzzling his hair in the most loving way before kissing his forehead, then his temple, then his cheek, then his jaw, then his lips, deepening their kiss quickly and his hands gripping Yuuri’s waist in the most wanting way.

“V-Viktor!” Yuuri breathed between kisses, the fire in his belly coming back to life and yearning for more, but how could he, with Viktor in such a terrible state? “V-Viktor, w-wait… wait, please!”

He put his hands on Viktor’s chest and pushed him back, gently but firmly. Viktor blushed, looking at his mate in confusion and slight embarrassment.

“Viktor, you are hurt,” Yuuri said softly, gently gesturing at Viktor’s back. “We shouldn’t.”

Viktor, of course, did not understand anything at all, and his face fell.

“I just don’t want you to hurt yourself,” Yuuri tried to explain, taking his husbands’ hands into his own. “Your… your back is still in a terrible condition and you need to rest and not… I mean… We can wait.”

The disappointment was clear on Viktor’s face. But even clearer on it was the embarrassment, and shame.

And then, Viktor lowered his head, and murmured something that Yuuri had heard before, and would not have believed to hear from his husband, and especially not in his native language.

“Gomen’nasai.”

At his home, Yuuri remembered, it was very rare for a man to apologise to a woman. In fact, it almost never happened. His father had been an exception, of course, always apologising to his mother whenever he had wronged her, or annoyed her, or sometimes just so, to make sure she knew she was respected.

Here in the north, things were different. Nonetheless, apologies between mates were never spoken in public, only ever in private. And even then, it was hard for a man, for a descendant of the wolf, to swallow his pride and apologise.

And now, Viktor was even apologising for things he was not to blame for.

“Viktor,” Yuuri whispered, cupping his beloved’s cheeks and leaning forward, their foreheads touching. “Don’t you ever apologise to me for being so brave.”

Viktor looked at him with big eyes, as if he could not believe what Yuuri was saying, even if he most likely did not understand anything at all. But then, Viktor let out a shaky breath and lowered his gaze, turning his head ever so lightly to press a gentle kiss to Yuuri’s palm. Yuuri knew he would be alright, he would understand that this was only for his own good. Of course Yuuri missed his touch, but nothing was more important than Viktor’s health.

“I’ll cook us some katsudon, okay?” Yuuri smiled, kissing his forehead. “Do you want to help me?”

And so, they found themselves sitting by the fire, Viktor on the softest furs they had been able to find, and worked together on their dinner. It was highly unusual for a man to help his mate with such tasks, but Viktor seemed to enjoy every second of it. First, Yuuri poured some water over the rice in the pot on the fire and put the lid on. Next, he showed Viktor how to chop the vegetables. In a second pot, he prepared the broth, and breaded the meat.

It was incredibly soothing to work together like this, Yuuri found.

* * *

They had gone to bed early that night, and so, Yuuri found himself awake earlier than usual, buried under a pile of warm furs. He yawned, reaching out to wrap his arms around his husband, searching for his warmth, but found the other side of their bed empty.

In an instant, he sat up.

“Viktor?” Yuuri called, but he received no reply.

Viktor’s side of the bed was cold, a clear sign that he had left a while ago, most likely even before sunrise. 

Yuuri pushed the furs aside and got out of bed, stumbling into the main room of their hut in search for Viktor, but found their home empty. There was a fire in the fireplace, keeping the hut warm, but other than that there were no signs of life except for Makkachin, who looked at Yuuri most curiously.

Yuuri’s eyes wandered to the opposite wall in a sense of foreboding, looking at the collection of weapons that Viktor owned; at his swords, spears, daggers, and bows.

And the largest and sharpest of his spears, the very one he had taken with him to the Great Hunt, was no longer there.

In an instant, Yuuri got dressed as quickly as he could, stumbling out of the hut in the greatest hurry, Makkachin running after him. But the moment he had run down the path and reached the centre of the village, he noticed the unrest among the others, worried people standing together in small groups.

“Viktor?” Yuuri called helplessly, but the moment he had said his name, he knew he would not get a reply. Viktor was gone, and the unrest in the village certainly had to do with it.

“Yuuri?” Mila came walking swiftly towards him, her face showing the same worry.

“Mila!” Yuuri breathed, stumbling into her arms. “Mila, do you know where Viktor is?”

“Does that mean he did not tell you where he went?” Mila asked, cursing in Russian under her breath.

“No, but his spear is gone, and I don’t know where he is!” Yuuri said desperately, looking around, as if hoping that Viktor would suddenly appear out of nowhere and explain it all.

“Yuuri, listen to me,” Mila said, taking him by the shoulders. “Yuuri, if his spear is gone, then I’m sure he and Adrian have gone into the woods.”

Yuuri stared at her in shock.

“But he is still injured,” he breathed. “Mila, he cannot go into the woods, he should be in bed, Mila, he should rest, I-“

“I know, Yuuri, I know,” Mila said softly and pulled him into her arms, trying to calm him down before he could hyperventilate. “Everyone knows this, and this is why everyone is so worried. Adrian’s parents came running to Nikita when they noticed he went missing, and that his spear was gone.”

“But why would they go into the woods?” Yuuri cried. “Viktor is-“

“Mila.”

Nikita had appeared behind the young midwife, his expression stern as he studied them, his gaze lingering a little longer on Yuuri.

“Go to Yelena and Lilia,” he said, nodding at the hut on the other side of the village. “Yuuri should not be alone right now.”

Mila nodded and gently put her arms around the upset young man. “Come, I’ll take you there,” she said, taking Yuuri away from Nikita, but not without shooting another glance at the clan leader, which was returned in an equally calculating way. But there were more important things to worry about than Nikita and his behaviour towards Yuuri.

Yelena and Lilia were already expecting them, Yelena taking the upset Yuuri into her arms and trying to soothe him as best as she could whilst Lilia worked, reading the will of the gods in the smoke of the herbs she had burnt.

“What do they say, Lilia?” Nikita asked, taking a seat beside her and looking at her in tense anticipation.

Lilia huffed, her hands reaching into the smoke and bringing it to her face, breathing in deeply as she spoke. Yuuri kept his eyes fixed on her, but he could not understand a word of her prophecy.

“The gods have called upon Viktor and Adrian,” Mila translated. “To kill the boar that has been possessed by an evil spirit.”

“No!” Yuuri breathed, panic rising inside him once more. “Viktor cannot fight or hunt! He is injured!”

“Yuuri, breathe,” Yelena said softly, holding him closer, just the way his mother had always held him, rubbing his back soothingly. “Gods are with Viktor. They protect.”

“He’s still too weak,” Yuuri whispered, his voice breaking. Viktor was still injured, not stable enough, to do any sort of work at all, let alone hunt.

Lilia spoke again, burning more herbs and reading the will of the gods in the smoke.

“The boar is strong,” Mila translated. “But the sons of the wolf are stronger. They will be successful.”

“Hear that, Yuuri?” Yelena said softly, squeezing his hand. “Everything is good.”

But for Yuuri, nothing was good. How could he know that Viktor would be fine? Being successful would not also equal being fine, and with Viktor’s current state of health, anything could happen.

Nikita nodded solemnly at Lilia’s prophecy. “Adrian and Viktor will restore their honour this way. For the gods, and for the prosperity of our clan. They will kill the boar and banish the evil spirit.”

“There is no honour to lose!” Yuuri shouted at him, angry tears streaming down his face. “Viktor never lost his honour! That he is in danger now is only your fault!”

“Yuuri, don’t,” Yelena said softly and shot a warning glance at her husband over Yuuri’s shoulder before her husband could even open his mouth. This was neither the right time nor the right place for Nikita’s pride, and knowing him, she would not let him upset Yuuri any further.

Nikita huffed, turning away from the women and leaving the hut, the door falling shut behind him.

Mila crouched down beside Yuuri, taking his hands. “I’m sure Viktor will be fine,” she assured him. “He is a strong warrior. Even when he is injured, no one could ever best him in combat. And the gods are with him today. The evil spirit that has possessed the boar won’t stand a chance.”

As much as Yuuri wanted to believe her, as much as he wanted to believe that Viktor would return to him unharmed – it proved to be entirely impossible. Yuuri could not stop shaking, no matter how much Yelena and Mila tried to console him, no matter how many times they assured him that Lilia never failed to read the will of the gods correctly. But they knew that this was only natural for a mate so young, that it was natural for a mate to worry in times like these.

The hours passed, with neither Mila nor Yelena ever leaving Yuuri’s side. They tried to distract him, keeping him occupied, but they could not stop the terrible thoughts or the anxiety. With every time that the door opened, Yuuri would jump to his feet, only to break down in tears upon realising that it was not Viktor that had come. Even Yuri tried his best to cheer him up and distract him, whilst being incredibly worried about his brother himself.

But there was nothing, truly, they could do to calm the storm in Yuuri’s heart.

* * *

The spear bored deep into the boar’s eye, blinding it, taking away the torture of having to face its hunters. The creature screamed, the evil spirit in it fighting with all its might against its destiny. But it was of no use. The boar had been defeated, the evil spirit slain, and it all lay now in the hands of those that had been sent to eliminate it.

And Viktor and Adrian, those that had been sent by the gods, knelt beside the screaming creature, their heads bowed in respect in deference for the animal that had been wrongfully possessed by evil forces, and that would have to give its life.

“In the name of the gods, I slay thee,” Viktor murmured as he cut the boar’s throat with his knife. “May the evil spirit leave your body and your nature return to you. May you be reborn in another time, with a new life, and a new spirit to call your own.”

Adrian knelt beside him, his gaze fixed in both horror and awe on the struggling animal, watching as its movements became less and less. Finally, it stilled beneath them, and the evil spirit, deprived of its shell, vanished.

Viktor sighed, pulling out his spear.

“Is it over?” Adrian asked quietly.

“It is over,” Viktor confirmed, looking down at the slain animal. Inside, he felt a deep sadness, a deep regret for the creature he had been forced to kill. But they had had no other choice. Not only had it been the only way to make up for what Fabiyan had suffered – but only in this way, they would be able to restore their honour.

They bound the boar to a long branch by its hooves to carry it home, the ends of the branches resting on their shoulders. Its weight was heavy on their shoulders, and the strain on their flogged, injured backs immense, but they endured their pain with pride as they walked.

They had left the village before sunrise, roaming the forests in search for the boar that had injured their friend. Neither of them had told their families where they were going, not wanting them to worry. If they failed, they would at least be able to protect what was left of their honour. To fail once was one thing, but to fail twice would destroy their honour beyond repair.

Nonetheless, Viktor felt terrible.

He was sure that his Yuuri was suffering terribly. After all, Yuuri did not understand their ways, did not understand why certain things had to be done a certain way. Upon his return, he would have to apologise to his mate for worrying him so.

“I thought I would feel better after killing the evil spirit,” Adrian said after a while. “But it is not like that. I feel… I feel worse.”

Viktor looked at him over his shoulder. “Is this the first time you have watched an animal suffer from an evil spirit?”

Adrian nodded. “Have you seen more?”

“A few,” Viktor replied, looking back on the path ahead and trying to ignore the pain in his back. “Seeing them suffer is terrible. It reminds us of the torture they endure. And that there are still evil things in this world. But slaying them, and freeing them from the evil spirit, is an honour. The gods would not have trusted you with this task if they did not see you as a great warrior.”

Adrian bowed his head. “But I’m not a great warrior,” he murmured. “I failed to protect my best friend.”

“No one becomes a great warrior overnight,” Viktor told him. “What I mean is that you have great potential. I have seen you train. And at the next meeting of the clans, you will participate in the competitions. You will be one of the best there.”

“You think so?” Adrian asked hopefully, suddenly so excited that he almost tripped over a root.

“Yes, I think so!” Viktor chuckled and reached back to help the boy stand.

Adrian winced as he put the end of the branch on his shoulder again, taking a few deep breaths against the pain.

Viktor could not help but feel sorry for the young boy.

“That you were whipped is my fault,” he said. “I should have commanded our group better.”

Adrian shook his head. “The evil spirit in the boar was the cause of it all,” he said. “But I should have known better and…” He trailed off, bowing his head.

“We have repaid our debt,” Viktor said to him as they continued their way back to the village. “It does not do any good to dwell on what has happened. All we can do now is to hold our head high, and to face the future.”

“But I took Fabiyan’s future from him,” Adrian murmured. “It is because of me that he is no longer engaged. He will never be a warrior.”

“You have changed his future,” Viktor replied patiently. “He might never be a warrior like us, but he is still a great archer. That is something he can do from the back of a horse. And he’s a bowmaker, just like his father. His life will be different, yes, but that does not mean it will be worse. And for his future mate…” He paused, thinking of his own mate, and how lucky he was to have Yuuri, “I was alone for a long time, too. I never thought I would find a mate, the way I am. But the gods gave me Yuuri. And they will give Fabiyan a mate that will accept him the way he is. That won’t care about his leg. What is important is that a mate sees right into your soul, and that they stay, regardless of… of what they might find there,” he murmured.

Adrian was quiet for a long moment.

Eventually, he said: “You love your mate very much, don’t you?”

Viktor looked at him over his shoulder, his smile so wide that it almost hurt.

“You have no idea how much I love my Yuuri.”

* * *

The moment they returned to the village, they could hear the cries of their clan. There was Adrian’s mother, calling her son’s name, fighting her way through the crowd until she reached him, throwing her arms around him, kissing him, crying her gratitude to the Heavens for the gods to hear. There was his brother, screaming for their parents. There was Lilia, praising the gods and thanking them for their protection.

And there was Yuuri – his Yuuri, his mate, his stars, his sun, and his moon, calling his name, running towards him, and into his arms, sobbing into his chest uncontrollably. And Viktor could not do anything but to sink to his knees and hold him close, rocking his crying mate back and forth and whispering his apologies.

“I’m so sorry for making you worry,” Viktor whispered and nuzzled his mate’s hair. “I never wanted for you to suffer like this.”

Yuuri sniffed and wrapped his arms around him, holding onto him tightly, refusing to let go.

“Viktor,” he breathed. “Viktor…”

“Viktor.”

It was his father who interrupted their moment, his voice reaching them from afar. Viktor rose to his feet again but never let go of his mate, holding Yuuri close to his chest as he met his father’s gaze first, then his mother’s. Finally, his eyes found Fabiyan, who had been carried outside by his father, and who was looking at him and Adrian and at the boar in shock.

Adrian approached his friend and knelt down before him, looking up at him. “We did this for you,” he said. “I will never be able to turn back the time and make things undone. But we have slain the creature in your name.”

Fabiyan’s tears, and the way he embraced his best friend told Viktor and the rest of the clan that there was nothing that would ever separate the young men, that no matter what would ever happen could destroy the bond they had.

Viktor looked down at his mate, looked into Yuuri’s eyes, and gently reached up to wipe the tears away that still kept coming. “I’m so sorry for making you worry,” he said quietly, kissing his forehead. “I never wanted to scare you.”

“No go away again,” Yuuri whispered and buried his face in Viktor’s shoulder. “Stay.”

Viktor wrapped his arms around his mate, not caring that they were in public, that everyone was watching them. Never before had he felt so terrible as a husband, or more like a failure. It was his duty to protect and care for his mate, not to make his mate worry. It was his fault that Yuuri was crying, it was his fault entirely that Yuuri was so upset.

“I’ll never leave you alone again,” Viktor promised quietly. “I swear by the stars and the moon, and by the souls that guide us.”

He could feel his father’s eyes on them as he carried his mate home, could feel his father’s judgement, but in this moment, he could not have cared less.

The only person that mattered now was his Yuuri.

What his father thought of it did not interest him.


	10. High in the Halls of the Kings who are Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!
> 
> It took me longer to write this chapter than I expected - for two reasons: 1. as some of you know, I have another WIP, namely "The Pakhan's Jewel" and god, am I obsessed. 2. This chapter is FUCKING LONG and so full with plot! Oh boy, I really hope you like it! 😅 It's mainly Viktor's POV. You will see why.
> 
> Thank you so much for all your kind comments and all the kudos. I hope the holidays are treating you well and that you're all getting some well-deserved rest and good food!
> 
> Song for this chapter: ['Jenny of Oldstone' by Florence and the Machine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eTa1jHk1Lxc)"

Before Yuuri, sleep had never come easy to Viktor.

He had often spent many hours awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the creaking wood, the howling wind, and the whispers of the nearby sea. Right next to him, Yura had slept, many years younger than him and sprawling out like a starfish, oblivious to the restlessness of his brother. In nights like these, Viktor had dreamt of the future. He had wondered where the gods would take him, and what they had planned for him. He already knew that he would never fall in love with a woman. No, he was far too much excited about going bathing with his peers for that.

Not to mention the few times he had hidden in the woods with that pretty boy from the neighbouring village, their hands exploring the body of the other, trading kisses when no one could see them.

But there were more things he kept wondering about than just marriage. Would he be a warrior, he had asked himself, or a craftsman? Would he ever take over the clan, once his father had joined the gods? What if he proved to be unworthy, what if the gods rejected his claim?

Thoughts like these had often kept him awake, especially during those nights when the old nightmares haunted him.

He knew his mother had them, too, for he had heard her cry softly in the middle of the night, and his father trying to soothe her.

Viktor never told anyone about his nightmares, although he was sure that his brother knew that sometimes, demons were tormenting him at night.

But Yura had never told anyone.

Now that he was married, he had always known that hiding his nightmares would be impossible. For some reason, he had not had any since getting married – and since the day he had taken Yuuri into their marriage bed, he had slept better than ever before. Perhaps it was because he slept with the man he loved at his side, with his heartbeat right next to his own. Perhaps it was simply because he knew that he was loved in return, even if they could not say it to one another.

A few days after restoring his honour, however, the nightmares had returned, and he had sat up in bed in the middle of the night, breathing heavily, the terrors of the dream seeming still so very real, as if all of his life had just been an illusion, as if he were still a little boy, enslaved, and in a foreign land, with no way to freedom.

But then, Yuuri had sat up as well, and had taken him into his arms. He had whispered to him, and had held him, just so, not expecting an explanation, or many words in return. Yuuri had simply just been there, patient, and ever so loving, holding Viktor close. And Viktor had realised that his dream had been just that, nothing but an illusion, and that his reality, and his life and love, were right there, in his arms.

The nightmares returned in the nights to follow, but they had lost their power over Viktor. They were defeated by Yuuri’s kisses, and by the sweet nothings whispered into Viktor’s ear.

Something had changed since the day they had killed the boar and defeated the evil spirit. Viktor could not tell what it was, but there was something in the air. Perhaps it was just the change of seasons, for the snow had finally melted away for good, and Spring was approaching fast. That meant more work for all of them, different work from the one done in winter, and new things to look forward to.

Only when Yuuri began to bleed again, their mood was dampened a little, but just like the first time, Viktor did everything he could do assure his mate that he did not care at all that he was not pregnant. He could not change the fact that Yuuri was upset nonetheless, shedding a few tears after discovering the blood on his thighs, but Viktor did everything he could to make things easier for his mate. He prepared hot stones for him, cooked for him, had Mila mix some medicine for him, and simply sat with him and held him as much as he could.

He was aware that his father disapproved of him neglecting his duties in favour of caring for Yuuri, but Viktor did not care. If anything he did was truly amiss, then Yakov would tell him so, and as long as Yakov did not come to him and drag him away from his mate, Viktor would stay with Yuuri for as long as he needed him.

Yuuri’s mood improved quickly, and he was able to pick up his daily tasks again, assuring Viktor with countless kisses that he was fine and could join Mila on her rounds again. However, Viktor could not help but notice the way his mate touched his flat belly when he thought no one was watching, and how sad he looked when he did so.

Viktor knew that it was mainly his fault that Yuuri suffered so. If he had not failed commanding his hunting group, he would not have been flogged, and would have been able to continue with his marital duties. And with just a little bit of luck from the Heavens above, his seed would have settled, and Yuuri’s belly would have grown heavy with his child. Instead, he had caused Yuuri yet another disappointment.

It was roughly a week after Yuuri had begun to bleed that Viktor noticed that Yuuri had stopped changing his undergarments, and that the good furs – which Yuuri always removed to keep them clean – had returned to their bed. But Yuuri made no attempts to let him know that he was ready again, despite the longing glances they gave each other. Viktor was sure that Yuuri could feel it, too, the burning deep inside him, the hunger, the desire. And yet, Yuuri only ever curled up at his side at night to sleep, never made an attempt to seduce him like he had a month ago.

Tradition and respect for his mate forbade Viktor to take the matter into his own hands. But what could he do? What happened between them was not meant for other ears, and he could not go to his father, or his uncle or anyone else to complain about something he had no right to demand of his mate. Not that he would have done so anyway. He was sure that Yuuri had his reasons to stay chaste, and he would wait until his mate was ready for him again, both physically and mentally.

It was not that there was no physical contact between them. Every single night, Yuuri would take care of his injuries that hurt less and less with every day that passed. The lashing had been three weeks ago and since then, he had received the best care possible from both Yuuri and Mila, and he felt stronger with every day. He craved the times when Yuuri would touch him, when his hands would caress his battered body ever so tenderly, when he would kiss him on the shoulder, humming a gentle tune to himself. But it never went beyond those touches, no matter how much Viktor wanted it.

It was a moment like that when Viktor decided to turn to his mate, after he had taken care of his wounds again, and they were safely protected by the bandages. Yuuri was washing his hands in the bucket by the fire, and then his face, too, in his usual evening routine before going to bed. Viktor watched him from the edge of their bed, admiring the beauty of his mate in the light of the fire as he waited for him to join him. Yuuri dried his face on a cloth and smoothed out his shift once more, then turned around to him with the most gorgeous smile that had Viktor forget himself for a moment. But then his Yuuri was there, standing before him between his knees, lacing their fingers together and pressing a quick, playful kiss to his forehead.

Oh, how he loved him so.

“Miliy?” Viktor said softly, bringing Yuuri’s hands to his lips and kissing his knuckles.

The term of endearment always brought an adorable blush to his mate’s cheeks, and that was just one of the many reasons Viktor liked to shower his Yuuri in affection.

“Miliy, can you tell me what it is that worries you so?”

Yuuri tilted his head to the side, a small frown on his face, which was a clear sign that he was trying to understand, but lacked the knowledge.

Viktor sighed softly. He let go of Yuuri’s hands and placed his own on Yuuri’s hips instead, caressing them through the fabric of his shift in an entirely, explicitly non-sexual way. Anything else could be seen by his mate as an attempt of seduction, and that was not only against everything the privilege of a mate stood for, but also the very last thing that Viktor wanted to do.

“I am worried,” he said slowly, hoping that Yuuri would understand. “My heart is sad.”

Yuuri blinked a few times, before his expression changed completely from confusion to fear, and the tears began to form in his eyes. “N-No baby?” He asked weakly and touched his belly, and Viktor realised his mistake at once.

“Not because of that!” He exclaimed and took Yuuri’s hands again, pressing a quick kiss to his stomach before looking up at him again. “No baby is okay! I promise!”

Yuuri swallowed thickly but nodded, and Viktor sent a silent prayer to the gods for averting a disaster.

“I am… I am sad because…” Viktor took a deep breath. “You are sad? You… how can I say this… you… you want a baby, right?”

Yuuri nodded slowly, and Viktor could not be more relieved at the fact that his mate understood.

“But for a baby, it takes two,” he continued. “I mean, you, and me. For a baby. We cannot have a baby if we don’t work on it, you know? And I’m just… I have this strange feeling that there is something that worries you so terribly, and you won’t or can’t tell me what it is, and I’m afraid that it is I who is the reason for your withdrawal for me.”

Yuuri looked at him, and although Viktor was certain that his mate had not understood anything at all, there was realisation in his Yuuri’s eyes, for there was guilt, and worry, and sadness in them all at once – and then, Yuuri averted his gaze as if ashamed, the very last thing that Viktor wanted.

His mate rested his hand on his belly again, right where his soul resided, and where he had always proudly carried Viktor’s seed. “I want a baby,” Yuuri said with a surprisingly steady voice, his Russian sounding almost natural for a moment. “But… Viktor is not okay.”

“Not okay?” Viktor repeated. “What are you-“

And then, he understood, his eyes widening in realisation.

“Yuuri,” Viktor said softly and pulled his mate onto his lap, kissing his forehead. “My back is much better already. See?” To prove his point, he raised one of his arms, and briefly flexed his muscles, earning slight dragging pain in return and a shocked gasp from Yuuri. But there was no more massive pain, only the remains of it.

“Thanks to your care, I’m well again,” Viktor said, gently cupping Yuuri’s cheek and caressing his face with his thumb. “I’m okay again. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Yuuri stared at him, his beautiful, brown eyes wide in shock and awe, reminding Viktor now more than ever of a shy deer ready to run away. But Yuuri’s gaze softened again, and he cast down his eyes as if deeply embarrassed, and Viktor knew that his mate understood.

“I will wait for you, of course,” Viktor added, pressing a kiss to Yuuri’s temple. “It is your privilege. If you don’t want me to have you, then I won’t. But I want you to know that-“

“I want Viktor,” Yuuri whispered.

In an instant, the fire in Viktor’s belly came back to life.

Hesitantly, his mate raised his head again, meeting his gaze shyly before glancing at the furs awaiting them in their bed right behind Viktor.

And so, Viktor carefully lifted his mate off his lap and lay down with him instead, putting Yuuri down on the furs with the greatest care. Then, he drew the curtains, shutting out the rest of the world from their nest.

It was warm in their bed, the furs the softest he had been able to find, for Viktor had only wanted the very best for his mate. And oh, he loved how Yuuri looked on the white furs of a polar lion they had slain many winters ago, the contrast between the fur and Yuuri’s dark hair incredibly beautiful. He moved closer to Yuuri, hovering above him and taking his hands, lacing their fingers together above Yuuri’s head.

“You are stunning, you know?” Viktor whispered, the tip of his nose brushing Yuuri’s. “How I deserve you is beyond me. But I am grateful that I get to call you mine, and mine alone.”

He doubted that Yuuri understood, but his mate was smiling, and brought their lips together for a tender kiss that said more than words ever could.

They stayed like this for a while, kissing slowly and unhurried, until they broke apart to breathe. Viktor then continued his journey, down Yuuri’s neck to his chest, pushing his shift up with his hand, exposing his belly and so much more. He took his time, lingering in one spot more than in another, the soft gasps of his mate music to his ears as he kissed down his stomach to Yuuri’s waist, and to the insides of his thighs until he finally drank from him, bringing upon him the purest form of worship a man could have for his mate.

Yuuri mewled above him, his thighs trembling with every kiss that Viktor gave him, trembling so much that Viktor had to hold them in place. They shook with every caress, and louder became Yuuri’s desperate, beautiful mewls as Viktor entered him with his tongue, tasting the most forbidden and holiest of fruits. And then, Yuuri cried his name, and his heels dug into the furs beneath them, and Viktor knew his mate had found his release. He withdrew from Yuuri and licked his lips, returning to his side and holding him close as Yuuri trembled from the wave of pleasure, and found that Yuuri was once more blushing. Viktor chuckled and kissed him, just for a moment, until he felt Yuuri’s hands tugging on his own shift, and his still trembling thighs embracing his hips. It was clear to him what Yuuri wanted, and Viktor would not deny him. In a single, swift movement, he pulled off his own shift, and then Yuuri’s as well before settling between his thighs and entering him without any hint of resistance.

Yuuri whimpered as he clung to him, but it was not a cry of pain but of pleasure, and Viktor understood why. His own mind had gone blank for a moment as he found himself deep in Yuuri’s warmth, and he needed a moment to recollect his senses. But as he opened his eyes, he found his mate looking at him, and Yuuri’s gaze so full of love, so full of trust, that Viktor could not bear to resist the urge to kiss him. Yuuri moaned into his mouth, deeply and so unbelievably wanton that Viktor was sure he would forget himself. He began to move, at first slowly and precise, then faster and harder, chasing the fire in his belly, Yuuri crying out with every thrust. It was as if they had not been apart for weeks, the two of them easily falling back into the rhythm they had had before, holding onto each other in sheer desperation and unwillingness to let go of the other ever again.

“Vik… toru…” Yuuri whimpered, his nails digging into Viktor’s shoulders, nonetheless careful of his injured back. His legs he kept wrapped firmly around Viktor’s hips who held them in place, moving into him deeper and deeper until Yuuri could not bear it anymore. He cried out, arching his back beneath Viktor, pushing his husband over the edge with him, and Viktor moaned louder than he ever had into his life as he gave Yuuri what he had longed for.

Only as they lay together in silence, their breaths the only sounds between them, Viktor began to feel the pain in his back. It was not as bad as he had thought it would be, fortunately, but he would surely feel their mating the following day.

He could not have cared less.

* * *

The following morning, he woke with Yuuri in his arms, his mate sleeping peacefully in his embrace, entirely oblivious to the world. Viktor loved watching him sleep, especially in the mornings when no one bothered them yet. When he had the time to just be Viktor, and Yuuri could just be Yuuri.

His hand came to rest on Yuuri’s belly, the gentle swell there filling his heart with pride. They had enjoyed each other two more times last night, until Yuuri had been nothing but a whimpering mess beneath him, Viktor’s seed pouring out of him because his body could not take in any more. Seeing Yuuri like this, with his belly so full, Viktor could barely wait to see his mate’s body swell with true new life.

Until then, they had to make the best of their time without a child.

Viktor pressed a tender kiss to Yuuri’s cheek, his mate mumbling something in his sleep as an answer. Viktor chuckled and climbed out of bed, starting to prepare a light breakfast.

Yuuri joined him after a while, leaning against him and wrapping his arms around his waist as Viktor cooked, humming in delight as Viktor handed him a bowl of hearty stew.

“Spasibo,” Yuuri whispered and pecked his cheek before beginning to eat.

Viktor could not have been happier.

After breakfast, they got dressed for the day, but Viktor had planned something different from their usual routine. Taking his bow from the wall and some arrows, too, he turned around to Yuuri.

“Come, take yours, too,” he said, nodding at Yuuri’s bow.

Yuuri stared at him in disbelief, his eyes flickering to the bow on the wall that he had not touched for two months.

“Come on,” Viktor said encouragingly, taking the bow from the wall and holding it out for Yuuri. “We’ll go for a hunt.”

Perhaps it was the bow, or the word ‘hunt’ that did the trick, but Yuuri began to beam at Viktor in sheer joy, a small cry escaping him as he threw his arms around Viktor and kissed him a thousand times, much to the man’s delight.

Never before had Viktor seen his Yuuri so excited. They left their hut right at dawn, with no one there to stop them, and went into the forest behind their settlement. The snow was finally gone for good, and nature was returning with full force. Viktor watched as Yuuri took deep breaths, coming to life more and more with every step they took, how Yuuri smiled as they went deeper and deeper into the woods. They held each other’s hand, not for support but simply because they wished to, for it felt right, and it made them happy.

Viktor had never been so in love before.

The woods had been his favourite place after he had returned home with his mother. In the forest, it was always quiet, and no one ordered him around, especially not his uncle or his parents. His mother had often complained about his constant trips to the forest, and had worried he would get lost. But for some reason, he had always found his way home, and had never really been afraid of losing his way.

Yuuri, he knew, was a child of nature, too. Yuuri had been the one to hunt for his family, and had been the best archer in his village. All of this was not important anymore in his new role of Viktor’s mate, but Viktor had never been a traditionalist. He would do everything he could to make his Yuuri happy, and if hunting with his bow made him happy, then Viktor would gladly give it to him.

Every now and then, Yuuri would turn to him and smile, doing it so breathtakingly, that Viktor could not help but push him against a tree and kiss him senseless every now and then. And every time, Yuuri would laugh and call him “silly Viktor”, and take his hand and pull him deeper into the forest with him.

Soon, they had left the forest far behind, with nothing but the trees surrounding them and the birds above them. They were moving quietly, not wanting to disturb the animals around them, as they kept both eyes and ears open for prey.

But then, Viktor stopped in his tracks, staring ahead.

“Viktor?” Yuuri whispered, holding onto his arm attentively. “Nani?”

Viktor could proudly say of himself that no one knew this forest better than him. He knew every twig, every root, every stone, yes, every deer and stag and where they ate, slept, and mated. But before them was an escarpment that Viktor had never seen before, and of which he was sure that it had not been there the last time.

It was covered in greenery, all of them far too bright in colour to be remains of winter. Spring was just coming, and most of the other plants still bare or not even visible yet, hiding their heads in the ground still.

And then, there was an aura, a force of attraction to the escarpment, an invisible power that made Viktor approach it with his hand extended before him, touching the leaves.

“There is a cave,” he murmured, never letting go of Yuuri’s hand. “But there has never been a cave here before…”

Yuuri looked at him worriedly. “Viktor?” He said quietly, tugging on his sleeve.

“This cannot be a bear’s cave,” Viktor murmured, stepping into the darkness of the cave and looking around. “All bears are on the other side of the forest… this is… most interesting…”

Inside the small cave, it was unusually warm. The greenery even covered the walls here, growing from places that Viktor could not tell and without ends, filling the cave with a sweet, mysterious scent.

Yuuri shivered beside him, holding onto him tightly. “Viktor, not good,” he whispered, tugging on his arm. “Go.”

Viktor knew that his mate was right. A place like this, so unearthly and strange, could not mean anything good.

But he found he was unable to withdraw. The cave was luring him in, and he took another step forward.

Suddenly, the ground beneath his feet caved in and they plunged down into the darkness.

* * *

Viktor opened his eyes first, stumbling to his feet.

“Yuuri!” He called in panic, trying to find his way in the darkness, feeling in the night for his mate. “Yuuri!”

“I’m here,” Yuuri groaned from beside him, their hands finding each other effortlessly.

“Oh thank the Heavens!” Viktor breathed and pulled his mate into his arms, just as his eyes finally adjusted to their new surroundings. A faint shimmer from above illuminated the cave and the place they had fallen to, barely enough to allow Viktor to see his mate’s face. “Yuuri, my love, are you alright? Are you hurt?” He asked him worriedly, touching his face to search for scratches.

Yuuri shook his head. “I am fine,” he told him, his eyes worriedly searching Viktor’s face in return. “What about you?”

“Not a scratch as far as I can tell,” Viktor assured him quickly, closing his eyes for a moment and sending a thankful prayer to the gods. “I thought that I had lost you and-“

He suddenly trailed off as reality dawned on him, and he stared at Yuuri with wide eyes.

“Yuuri,” he said slowly, afraid of going mad. “Can you understand me?”

Yuuri opened his mouth to reply but no sound came out. Instead, his eyes widened in shock, and he reached up to touch his head.

“Can you understand what I’m saying, Viktor?” He whispered in complete bewilderment.

“Yes, I can,” Viktor said slowly. “You… you are speaking Russian to me.”

“I am not!” Yuuri breathed. “YOU are speaking Japanese!”

They stared at each other in shock, either of them unable to put into words what they could barely understand themselves.

Yuuri was the first to find his voice again, lifting his gaze towards the ceiling above where small crystals were illuminating the cave in a sort of bioluminescence.

“What is this place?” Yuuri asked quietly. “Are we… dead?”

Viktor followed his gaze towards the crystals. “I don’t think so. My back still hurts.”

Yuuri’s eyes snapped back onto him. “You said it did not hurt anymore.”

Viktor blushed. “I said it does not hurt as much as it did,” he said. “I’m fine, I promise. And I swear that last night was… was absolutely worth it.”

Yuuri blushed even more than him, his brown eyes widening a little before he averted his gaze in embarrassment. It was the first time that they were talking about this, about each other, whilst being able to actually understand the other person.

“Now come on,” Viktor chuckled, pecking Yuuri’s lips. “No need to be embarrassed. Although I find your blush so very sweet.”

“Viktor,” Yuuri groaned and got to his feet, in the hope of ending the conversation. Suddenly, he paused, listening into the silence. “Is that water?”

And then, Viktor heard it too; the sound of a gentle stream not too far away.

He rose from the ground and brushed the dirt off his clothing, taking Yuuri’s hand. “We must find another way out,” he said. “And if there is water, then there is also an exit somewhere.”

Yuuri nodded, holding onto him tightly.

Together, they made their way deeper into the cave, following the sound of water. The light of the crystals above them was guiding them on every step of their way, illuminating the cave in a strange, greenish light. Yuuri held tightly onto Viktor, who held him close in return, for they did not want to lose each other again in the dark. With every step, the sound of water seemed to come closer, becoming louder, and the light of the crystals became brighter.

Suddenly, the cave became wider, opening up into a large space. Countless crystals covered the ceiling above them, circling around an opening in the centre that let in natural light from the world outside. In the centre of the space was a hot spring, steam rising from the surface of the water. Green, soft leaves covered the ground beneath their feet, amongst them the most beautiful petals in the most gorgeous colours.

“What is this place?” Yuuri whispered in awe as he looked around, following the stream of water that entered the hot spring with his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Viktor whispered in return, holding his mate closer. “I… I have never been here before. But… this place seems so…”

“So familiar,” Yuuri said, finishing the sentence for him. “I know, it’s… it’s like I’ve seen it before, but…”

“Like a faint memory,” Viktor murmured, taking another step forward.

“As if… as if I had seen it in a dream,” Yuuri said, following his husband, holding onto his arm. “But it is not a dream. More like a… like a vision.” He paused, and so did Viktor, and they looked at each other in realisation.

“Do you think this is a holy place?” Viktor whispered, not daring to speak louder.

“It might be, if you let it be one.”

It was not Yuuri who had spoken. They turned their heads in shock, looking past the hot spring, beyond the steam to the other side of the water. There, on a large rock almost like an altar, sat a woman. Her hair was bright, almost white in the light coming from above, falling down her back in gentle waves. Her gown was of the most beautiful colours, as if the rainbow’s magic had been captured in it, shimmering with every movement. Her face was a perfect oval, her eyes of a deep blue, like the sky of the night.

She turned her head to look at them and as she rose, and Viktor and Yuuri sank to their knees.

They had heard of her in the stories of their mothers, in the preachings of their priestesses, had felt her power in their lives. They had been taught to fear her, honour her, trust in her, and had devoted half of their lives to her service only. Many nights, Viktor had prayed to her, had begged her for a sign, for help, for her blessing, never receiving an answer.

But now, she stood before him.

The goddess of the moon smiled down at them, and stepped down from the altar with bare feet.

“Finally, you have found your way to me,” she said as she walked through the water towards them, emerging from the spring, her clothing not having been soaked at all. And then, she knelt before them, her pale hands touching their heads, kissing their foreheads. “Yuuri, the boy I blessed. And Viktor, the boy I protected.”

Neither of them dared to speak, unable to look away from her. The goddess smiled at them, graciously and kind, her hands in their hair as she regarded them benevolently. “Do not be afraid,” she said. “For I have called you here for a reason.”

Yuuri swallowed thickly, bowing his head before her and pressing his forehead to the ground – for it was to her that he owed his life as a sacred one, and she had been the one to bless him upon his birth.

“My dear child,” the goddess laughed softly and took his face into her hands. “You do not have to fear me. I have not come to punish you.”

“I… I am not afraid, Mother,” Yuuri whispered, his words barely audible as he was shaking, and Viktor wanted nothing more but to hold him, but there was nothing he could protect him from.

The goddess smiled sympathetically. “And yet, you tremble,” she said gently, and let go of him, touching Viktor’s cheek as well. “But I have not called you here to punish you. You are here because I have brought the two of you together. And you deserve to know why.”

Viktor bowed his head as well. “We are not worthy of your presence, Mother,” he whispered. They could not have been prepared for such a moment, for the gods never showed themselves in mortal shape. Of course he had heard the stories, had listened to them eagerly as a child when his aunt Lilia had taught him and the other children about the gods. Stories of grandeur, stories of wonder, of times where the gods had descended from the Heavens to walk amongst humans. Only a selected few had ever gotten to see them, and their lives had changed forever.

What had they done to deserve such an honour?

“My child,” she said gently. “All of you are worthy. And I have waited for this moment for a very long time. I have heard the cries of sorrow of my children for long enough.”

She rose again, looking up at the ceiling of the large space, letting her eyes wander over the crystals thoughtfully. “Do you know where you are?” She asked. “It is a place that both of you have seen before. You have seen it in your minds. You have been here in your dreams. Taught about it by your mothers. It is the Hall of the Kings who are gone.”

“The…” Viktor and Yuuri looked at each other with wide eyes, both of them having been taught of it in the songs of their mothers as children, the song of it as old as time itself, it seemed.

The goddess of the moon smiled. “Yes. It is where the spirits of the past linger. In this moment, the souls of your ancestors are with you. And they are in your favour. They are proud of you.”

A cold shiver ran down Viktor’s spine at the thought of it, the mere thought of his ancestors being present threatening to overwhelm him. In their clan, they honoured their ancestors, prayed to them and asked for their support and wisdom. But for Viktor, it had always been difficult, for he knew little of them. His mother had been an orphan, and had grown up in a clan that was not hers by birth. His father had never told him much about the men and women coming before them. To be told by the goddess of the moon that they were watching, and they were well-disposed towards him, was more than Viktor would have ever dared to hope.

“Your ancestors have sung about the Hall of the Kings who are gone since the beginning of time,” the goddess said. “They sang it to their children, and their children again to theirs, until the song reached the present, and was sung to you. But it was never just a song. It was a prophecy, as old as time itself.”

The goddess knelt down by the water and beckoned them over. Slowly, Viktor and Yuuri stood, grasping each other’s hands tightly as they approached the goddess, kneeling beside her by the water. The goddess dipped her hand into it, and began to sing, her voice filling the cave and luring them in.

“_High in the halls of the kings who are gone, _

_an orphan would dance with her ghosts, _

_the ones she had lost and the ones she had found_

_And the ones who had loved her the most_

_The ones who'd been gone for so very long _

_She couldn't remember their names_

_They spun her around on the damp old stones _

_Spun away all her sorrow and pain _

_They danced through the day_

_And into the night through the snow that swept through the hall_

_From winter to summer then winter again_

_'Til the walls did crumble and fall.”_

_And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave _

_Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave_…”

An image had begun to form in the water as she sang, almost like the vision of a dream. A young girl, her bright, blonde hair falling down her back in gentle waves, dancing with a young man. They were smiling, smiling so bright that there was no doubt of the love they felt for one another. They danced like only lovers ever could, with the purest joy and deepest devotion in their hearts. And they laughed, laughed so very beautifully that it made their hearts ache. Only as the goddess’ voice faded, so did the image, and they disappeared from the surface of the water, as if it had only been imagination.

“I was watching her from the day of her birth,” the goddess said quietly. “And I tried to keep her safe. Even when she was thrown into slavery, I kept her safe. Her, and her son.”

She looked up, reaching out to touch Viktor’s face. “You were never alone, my child,” she said. “I never forgot you.”

Viktor shivered, his eyes flickering down to the water and back up at the goddess, his voice barely more than a whisper as he spoke.

“My… my mother…” He swallowed thickly.

The goddess nodded. “It was her prophecy,” she said. “And when it came true, my heart bled. She was an orphan. Her clan had been slain by the enemy. I kept her safe, hid her where no one could find her. Only when it was over, one could hear her cries. So I sent the ice swans to her. They took her in, and raised her in their clan as one of their own. She was happy.”

The face of the goddess darkened, and she averted her gaze. “Nothing is as it seems,” she said eventually. “Nothing is as it should be. The arrogance of men has destroyed what I had wanted to come. And with their arrogance came blood and destruction.”

Viktor and Yuuri looked at each other, struck by what they had been shown, yet unable to comprehend any of it.

“I have brought you together,” the goddess said, turning her head to look at them again. “I brought you together to fulfil your destiny. To make right what those before you have destroyed. I am no longer willing to hear the cries of those that I have blessed. I am no longer willing to watch them suffer.”

She looked at Yuuri now, her eyes full of sympathy and warmth. “I blessed the one of whom I knew he would be born into a loving family,” she said, gently touching Yuuri’s cheek. “And gave you to the one of whom I knew that he would honour you. You have made me very proud, my children, and you have reinforced my decision. For you will be the ones to make it right.”

Large tears rolled down Yuuri’s cheeks, and the mere sight of them broke Viktor’s heart. But he knew that his mate was not crying in sadness and despair, but out of sheer gratitude, for Yuuri had never felt as if he belonged, had never thought to be enough.

“But…” Viktor said hesitantly, glancing back at the surface of the water, where he had seen his mother’s past. “What can we do? What is… what is the meaning of all this, Mother?”

The goddess smiled. “All in due time,” she said. “I have brought you here to tell you of your destiny. And to reward you for your trust in me. The time to act has not yet come.” She touched both of their faces again, looking each of them in the eye. “Until then, I will give you what your hearts so desire.”

And then, her touch was gone, and the goddess had returned to the water, walking through it as if it were nothing, emerging from it on the other side once more, where she had been sitting.

“These waters are holy,” the goddess said, stepping into the light coming from above. “Like the rest of this place. Time has no meaning here. One might spend a thousand years in it, and return to the same day and hour one has last lived in the mortal world. There is no hunger. No thirst. No pain, and no death. Only healing.”

She raised her head, looking up into the light, her youthful face glowing in divinity, and neither Viktor nor Yuuri were able to look away from her.

“This is the gift I am making you, my children,” the goddess of the moon said quietly. “Stay for as long as you like and heal both your body and soul. For your lives to keep going, and for new life to come. To give you what your hearts most desire.” She smiled at that, and Viktor could not help but look at his mate, whose hands had come to rest on his belly at the goddess’ words, his eyes wide and shimmering in awe.

There was nothing that his Yuuri desired more than a child.

“The crystals will guide your way home,” the goddess said and her vision slowly began to fade, as if taken away from the light above. “And I will be with you.”

Viktor stumbled to his feet. This could not be it, no, this could not be all. “Mother!” He cried. “Mother, how are we supposed to know what to do?”

The goddess laughed, the sound of it as clear as bells. “All of it in due time,” she said ever so patiently. “Until then, my children: _Live_.”

And then, she was gone.

Viktor stood there, trembling from head to toe, staring at the spot where the goddess had been just a moment ago, at the light coming from above, his heart racing, his mind spinning as he tried to comprehend what had just happened.

And then, a tear fell from his eyes. At first one, then two, the tears flowing freely as the shock came over him, the shock of having been touched by the goddess of the moon herself, to be blessed and chosen by her for something he could not understand. Viktor dropped to his knees and pulled his mate into his arms, burying his face in Yuuri’s shoulder.

Neither of them knew for how long they stayed like this, shaking, trembling, sobbing, all of it too much for a mere mortal.

It was Yuuri who found his voice again first, his eyes red and swollen from crying as he pulled back to look at his husband. “What is the meaning of all this?” He breathed. “Why… why us?”

“I don’t know,” Viktor whispered, kissing Yuuri’s forehead and pulling him into his arms again, as if terrified of losing him to the place. “I don’t know, my love.”

A thousand thoughts were racing through his head, thoughts of his mother, his father, combined with a fear he had not known existed within him. It was as if his heart were putting everything in his life into question.

Everything, except for Yuuri.

“What are we supposed to do, Viktor?” Yuuri asked quietly. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I,” Viktor said, nuzzling his mate’s hair soothingly. “I’m… at a loss.”

They were quiet for a while, the only sound being the gentle gurgling of the water. Holding onto each other helped, if only to soothe their racing hearts, and to come to terms with the fact they had been touched by the goddess of the moon.

There was no greater honour than that.

“She said we should… we should live, until… until we learn more,” Yuuri said hesitantly as they pulled apart again, instinctively reaching for Viktor’s hands and lacing their fingers together. “What did she mean by that?”

“I think, she meant just that,” Viktor replied, looking back at the spot where the goddess had disappeared. “That we should just continue with our lives and… be prepared.”

Yuuri said nothing to that, following Viktor’s gaze.

And then, a small sob escaped him, and another, and Viktor had barely time to react as Yuuri hurried to wipe the tears away.

“Yuuri…”

“I’m fine…” Yuuri sniffed and swallowed thickly. “It’s just so wonderful to hear you speak. To understand what you are saying.”

Viktor blushed, only then remembering that they were, in fact, apparently speaking the same language. Of course, he knew that this was not the case. Neither he nor Yuuri spoke the language of the other so well that they could have a conversation as easy as this.

It was all part of the goddess’ gift to them, he realised.

“This place has many secrets, it seems,” Viktor said softly. “But I like this one of them best.” He grasped Yuuri’s chin and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “Because it gives me the chance to finally tell you in my own words how much you mean to me, my Yuuri. How much I love you.”

Yuuri’s breath hitched in his throat, his beautiful, brown eyes that Viktor adored so much wide in shock. “You… you love me?” He whispered, his eyes filling with tears again.

Viktor, who had never been good at dealing with crying people, quickly cupped his beloved’s face. “Of course I love you,” He said, kissing the tears away in an attempt to stop them. “I have loved you from the moment I first saw you, and have loved you only more ever since.”

Yuuri’s lower lip trembled at his confession. For a moment, Viktor was sure his mate would burst into tears. But then, in a voice ever so gentle, he said: “I love you, too.”

Viktor pulled his mate into his arms, and sealed their love with a long, tender kiss.

Neither of them knew for how long they sat there, holding each other, sharing a thousand kisses in the light of the crystals. For the first time, they had been able to tell each other what they felt for one another, and Viktor was sure there would never be a happier day in his life. To know that Yuuri loved him, that Yuuri wanted to be with him, live with him, with all his heart, meant the world to him. The gods had given him a rare mate, that much Viktor knew, and oh, he would love him well for as long as he would live, and into the next life, too. This promise he had given Yuuri on their wedding day, and he would keep it forevermore.

They undressed unhurriedly, taking off each other’s clothes piece after piece. It was Yuuri then who took the lead, taking Viktor’s hands and guiding him towards the hot spring, towards the healing waters. Viktor followed him, never taking his eyes off his mate as they stepped into the water, the heat of the spring surrounding them, luring them in. But as the water touched his back, and his wounds, there was no pain, no sting. He sank to his knees, pulling Yuuri onto his lap, and his mate buried his face in the crook of his shoulder.

“Are you in pain?” Yuuri asked after a while.

Viktor shook his head. “No.”

Yuuri sighed deeply. “It… it feels like it is my fault that you were punished like that.”

Viktor frowned. “How could it have been your fault?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” Yuuri murmured, pulling back just enough to look Viktor in the eye. “But I have… I have this feeling that your father does not like me very much. Especially… especially not after I… I talked back at him like that.”

“So I heard,” Viktor said softly, reaching up to stroke Yuuri’s cheek. “But you only wanted to protect me. You have earned Yakov’s respect with that.”

Yuuri blushed. “But I should not have done that,” he said. “It was not my place.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor said, his thumb brushing his beloved’s lips. “Your place is at my side. If my father has a problem with you, he has to come to me. And I will always be on your side, no matter what. Do you believe me?”

Yuuri nodded and buried his face in Viktor’s shoulder again with a sigh.

“And besides,” Viktor added with a small smile, playing with hair in Yuuri’s neck. “I quite like it when you are all confident and possessive…”

Yuuri let out an embarrassed groan. “I’m not confident and possessive,” he murmured, his hand moving down Viktor’s shoulder to his back. “I’m just a worried m-“

He suddenly fell silent, pulling away and moving around Viktor to have a look at his back. “Viktor,” he breathed. “Your… your injuries!”

“What about them?” Viktor asked, trying to reach back, searching for the cut that reached up to his left shoulder, but found nothing.

“They are gone,” Yuuri breathed, running his hands over the skin that had been so very marred from the lashing. “All of it is gone.”

Viktor’s eyes widened. “The… the goddess said she would give us what our bodies desire the most,” he said, turning around to Yuuri. “She… she healed me.”

Yuuri nodded, covering his mouth with his hands in sheer joy. “She healed you,” he breathed and then threw his arms around Viktor. “She healed you, my love.”

Viktor could not help but laugh, silently sending prayers of gratitude to the goddess. “She has given me what my body desired the most, then,” he sighed, nuzzling Yuuri’s hair. “And… what is it that your body desires?”

Yuuri stiffened a little in his arms, murmuring into his shoulder.

“What was that?”

“Bmbh…” Yuuri mumbled.

“Bmbh?” Viktor chuckled. “Yuuri, are you trying to tell me a secret here?”

Yuuri sighed heavily, resting his chin on Viktor’s shoulder, looking anywhere but at him.

“I want a baby.”

Viktor smiled knowingly, running a hand gently through Yuuri’s hair. “I know.”

“I didn’t think it would be so hard,” Yuuri mumbled. “And every time I… I bleed I’m once more reminded of…”

“Yuuri,” Viktor interrupted him gently and pulled away from his mate, just enough that Yuuri had to look at him. “I will always love you so, regardless of how many children we have. And I won’t care if we have no children at all. The last thing I want is that you put so much pressure on yourself. Do you understand?”

Yuuri nodded bashfully.

“And besides,” Viktor said, glancing down at the water. “These waters have healing powers. The goddess said she would give us what our bodies desire. Maybe we should trust her in this regard, too.”

Yuuri bit his lip. “But what if it does not work?”

“Then we’ll be happy together as we are,” he said and pecked Yuuri’s lips. “I’ve spotted a nest over there… what do you say…?”

Yuuri blushed deeply. “This is so embarrassing,” he said. “To hear you say these things…”

“Come on,” Viktor laughed and emerged from the water, scooping Yuuri up in his arms.

“Viktor!” Yuuri gasped, holding onto his husband as the cool air hit his wet skin. “Be careful, you’ll slip!”

“Don’t worry, my love,” Viktor chuckled and pressed another kiss to his mate’s lips as he climbed out of the hot spring. And indeed, on the other side of the water was a nest, made of the softest of furs, as if it had been put there just for them.

Yuuri lay back, reaching up and pulling Viktor down with him, hooking his legs around his waist. The furs beneath him were warm and soft – the perfect place for a mating, Yuuri realised as Viktor kissed him, with such love and admiration that Yuuri wanted to cry.

They held onto each other, moved in the same rhythm, exchanging caresses and touches under the blessing of the goddess. And then, as they cried out in pleasure and ecstasy, something inside Yuuri clicked into place.

* * *

They lay in each other’s arms, warm and sated, Yuuri resting his head on Viktor’s chest and listening to his heartbeat. Viktor’s hand was on his belly, resting there protectively as he whispered sweet nothings into his mate’s ear.

“I can’t believe we were gifted with something like this,” Yuuri murmured, letting his eyes wander through the cave. “To know that… that the goddess was with us this whole time.”

Viktor hummed in agreement. “I always wondered about the fact that my mother and I came out of… everything relatively unharmed,” he said softly. “To know that she watched over us… it explains a lot.”

Yuuri looked up at his husband, resting his hand right above Viktor’s heart. “You never told me about that time,” he said. “I was not sure if it was… well, appropriate to ask.”

Viktor ran a hand through Yuuri’s hair. “You are my mate,” he said. “You have every right to ask me about everything you wish to know.” He sighed, looking up at the ceiling of the cave, admiring the crystals for a while. “I should have told you about these things already, but I was not sure how. I wanted to, believe me. You’ve seen me having nightmares and I saw how much you worried...”

Yuuri leant up to kiss him gently on the lips. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” he said.

“But I want to,” Viktor said. “I… I think I should.”

Yuuri smiled softly and rested his head on Viktor’s chest again, waiting patiently.

“I don’t know how it happened, but…” Viktor began hesitantly. “I was… two years old, I think. My father was not with us. He was in the south at that time, I believe, searching for allies. The war in the north was raging, still, so… so he was looking for a way to end it. The enemy took advantage of the fact that the strongest men were no longer in the village and came at night. They killed the men that were left and took my mother and I with them.”

“But what about the women and children in the village?”

Viktor huffed. “They thought they would starve or die without the men anyway. That sort of people tends to underestimate the northern women.” He held Yuuri a little closer, determined to never let such a thing happen to his own mate.

“I know that my mother tried to run away one night, but she failed. I don’t know what happened, but she never tried to run again. In the end, we were taken to… to some sort of slave market, and eventually sold to some sort of merchant.” Viktor shivered at the memory, the very reason he still despised large crowds. The people, the laughter, the hands grabbing at him and his mother…

“He had bought my mother because he thought she was pretty, and he could sell her hair. I remember my mother crying as they pulled her away from me. I must have made quite the scene at the slave market, because they shoved me back into her arms just to get rid of me. So the guy got two slaves for the price of one, two with golden hair, even. Must have been the bargain of his lifetime,” Viktor added dryly.

“Our owner was married, of course. His wife hated my mother, but she hated her husband more. She made us sleep in the stable with the pigs, so that if her husband wanted to get to my mother, he would have to walk through the dirt. Which he never did. And during the day, she kept my mother working her fingers to the bone. She would strike her at every opportunity, but never touched me. I was shoved into a corner, most of the time.”

“Thinking back, I realise now that this woman, as awful as she was, did her best to protect us. Especially my mother. She struck her face until it was green and blue to make her undesirable to our owner. She made sure I was out of the way so that her husband would not see me too much, and come to the idea of selling me. She kept us together.”

Viktor fell silent at that, and stared up at the ceiling of the cave.

Yuuri gently kissed his cheek. “But you were saved,” he whispered. “Your father came to save you. You made it back home.”

Viktor nodded. “Indeed,” he agreed. “We made it back home.”

More than that, he did not say – mainly because he simply did not remember. He had been too small all those years ago, not understanding what was going on. In fact, it had taken him several days to understand that the man that had suddenly come to their rescue was not anyone, but his father. That his mother was not holding onto the man because she was afraid, but because she was grateful. That her tears were not those of sadness, but those of joy.

“When you came home,” Yuuri began before hesitating for a moment. “Was it difficult?”

Viktor thought back to the day they had returned home, to their village by the sea. It had been a sunny day, unusually warm, and there had been many people, so many people, running to welcome them home.

“It took some time for my mother to adjust to freedom again,” Viktor answered. “She was terrified of strangers and would not let me out of sight. It continued like that for a few months. She would wake up in the middle of the night, screaming and grabbing me, as if she wanted to run away again. But each time we got out of the door, she would stop dead in her tracks, and come back to her senses. It took her some time, but she learnt to trust people again over time. And she took her rightful place at the top of the hierarchy.”

Yuuri nodded softly, and Viktor could feel his lover’s eyes on him, and feel his concern.

“That lies all in the past now,” Viktor said softly, kissing Yuuri’s forehead. “And besides, my mother got her revenge.”

Viktor smirked at the memory. “One day, my father returned from one of his travels to the south. And he brought my mother a gift in the shape of the men that had hunted us down that night when we tried to escape. He threw them to my mother’s feet and left it to her to pass judgement. My aunt Lilia held me in her arms that day and let me watch as my mother stood above them. She had a dagger in her hands. The one that she always wears on her belt. She grabbed them by their hair, like they used to do with her, and whispered to them. And then she stabbed them. One stab for every time they had touched her, hit her, humiliated her. The ground beneath her feet was drinking their blood that day. Their bodies were tossed into the sea.”

He held Yuuri a little tighter, kissing his hair. “My aunt Lilia told me that day: See, Viktor, this is the right of women. We take our honour back from those that tried to break us. And they pay the price for their deeds with blood.”

Viktor could still see the men in his head, how his mother had towered over them and taken her revenge. She had reclaimed her pride that day, everyone had said.

Only as an adult, Viktor had managed to understand what they had meant.

“You will never have to go through this again, Viktor,” Yuuri said and sat up a little, cupping his husband’s cheeks, kissing him on the lips. “I’ll be with you from now on. I’ll protect you, just like you protect me.”

Viktor’s chest swelled with pride for his mate, and he sat up as well to kiss him hard, with such love and adoration that it almost hurt. But he loved Yuuri so, loved him with all his heart, that he simply did not know how he deserved someone so wonderful.

“Yuuri,” he breathed as they broke apart again. “There is something I need to know.”

“Y-Yes?” Yuuri blushed, overwhelmed by the sudden passion of his husband.

“Were you forced to marry me?” Viktor asked, grasping his hands. “Are you happy with me? What can I do to make you even happier? Is there anything that I can change?”

“Viktor!” Yuuri grabbed him by the shoulders, pressing their foreheads together. “Viktor, listen to me. I love you. I will never leave you. You will never be alone again. Yes, when we were engaged, I was scared at first, and nervous about our first night together. I was worried that you would despise me. But then you kissed me, and you held me, and I’ve never been happier since.”

Viktor swallowed thickly. “You… you are happy with me, my Yuuri?”

Yuuri nodded, smiling at his husband, a smile that could light up the darkest night. “With you, I feel safe and loved. I could never be happier with anyone else. And… and I want to grow old with you and have your baby, if the goddess blesses us with one.”

“She will,” Viktor said. “And you have… you have no idea how grateful I am to have you. I love you.”

“And I love you,” Yuuri smiled, climbing into Viktor’s lap for a tender kiss. “And nothing is ever going to change that.

* * *

They did not know for how long they slept in each other’s arms in between mating and kissing. But they knew it was time to return to their families and friends, that they could not stay in this cave forever – regardless of how much they wanted it.

They had gotten dressed and had picked up their bows, following the light of the crystals, down a hidden path that would take them outside. Soon enough, the light of the crystals was replaced with the light of the sun coming from outside.

As the exit of the cave came into sight, they stopped for a moment, lingering a little longer in their very own sanctuary.

They would no longer be able to understand each other as soon as they left this place. And that hurt them more than anything else.

“Maybe we can write each other little notes,” Yuuri said, squeezing Viktor’s hand.

Viktor blinked. “You can write?”

“Well, yes,” Yuuri said with a frown. “Why?”

Viktor blushed, scratching the back of his neck. “I… I cannot read or write,” he said. “No man can in my village. It is considered women’s work.”

“Women’s work,” Yuuri repeated dryly, raising an eyebrow. “So it’s a bad thing.”

“What? No!” Viktor hurried to say. “Yuuri, I love that you can read and write! I just wish we could write each other notes, as you say…”

Yuuri chuckled, standing on his toes to peck Viktor’s lips. “I’ll teach you,” he said. “But…” He glanced at the end of the long path ahead. “I think we should… we should go home now.” Yuuri averted his gaze in sadness, knowing very well that once they left, they would no longer be able to understand each other.

“My love,” Viktor said softly, grasping his chin gently. “You have told me so much that it’ll last for a while. And we will work hard from now on so we’ll understand each other, won’t we?”

“Yes,” Yuuri sighed, allowing Viktor to kiss him on the lips once more before taking both of his hands. “Come. It is time to go home.”

Viktor took a deep breath, nodding in an attempt to reassure himself that this was the right thing to do – no matter how badly he wanted to stay in this cave with Yuuri for the rest of their lives.

And so, he followed his mate out of the cave, stepping into the warm light of the sun.

They emerged from the cave on top of a hill, the sun had risen above the forest now, bathing the north in its golden light. In the far distance, they could see the other villages, the smoke rising from the many fires in people’s homes, the first boats making their way out into the open sea to catch fish.

This was where they belonged, Viktor thought with an aching heart.

This was their home.

And Viktor never wanted to leave.

“It’s so beautiful, isn’t it,” he said, squeezing Yuuri’s hand.

But Yuuri did not reply. Viktor turned his head, looking at him, finding the inevitable sadness in his mate’s eyes at the loss of the magic that had bound them together.

No, the goddess’ blessing of the cave was gone for good. And with it, their ability to understand one another.

“Kirei,” Viktor said, nodding at the landscape before them. The very first Japanese word that Yuuri had taught him.

Yuuri smiled and nodded. “Kraseevyi,” he said in return.

And that alone warmed Viktor’s heart.

They descended the hill together, holding each other’s hands tightly. They might not have been able to understand each other anymore, but even without words, they would always be the closest to one another.

They would always have their love.

It would not be a long way home, Viktor realised as they reached the bottom of the hill, recognising the area at once. The cave they would most likely never find again, but it was good that way. From now on, they would do as the goddess had told them, and simply live.

Until the time came for them to act on her prophecy.

“Viktor,” Yuuri whispered, nudging him with his elbow.

Viktor turned around.

There, in the distance, stood the most magnificent elk he had ever seen. It was tall, elegant creature, its fur shining in the light of the morning sun as it grazed in solitude, oblivious to their presence.

Viktor exchanged a look with his mate, gesturing at the elk in silence.

Yuuri understood at once.

He reached back, pulled out an arrow, and took aim at its eye.


	11. A Trust Betrayed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!  
Some of you noticed that I have another WIP now, "The Pakhan's Jewel". The reason I update said WIP more often is that this one here is considerably more work - after this chapter, you will see what I mean.
> 
> Trigger warning: miscarriage.  
Please also note the new warnings.
> 
> (I am not a doctor, not trained in any medical profession - this is NOT meant to be an accurate description of procedures etc. so please don't kill me.)

Victor and Yuuri did what the goddess had told them to do:

They simply lived.

One would have thought it to be a simple task, to go back and keep living, but it appeared almost impossible to them now. After meeting the goddess, after learning that she had a mission for them, the world seemed so very different to them. As if none of it was truly real. As if they had been living a life in waiting only – and that their real lives were only about to begin.

How could they keep living after all the things they had seen and heard?

To the others, they had not been gone that long – a morning, perhaps, but no second longer. The moment they had returned to the village with the head of an elk, and the promise of the rest of it waiting for them in the woods, they had been surrounded by the villagers who had cheered and congratulated them. Above all, they had congratulated Yuuri, for he had been the one to blind the elk, and had therefore taken the animal’s spirit into his own hands to guide it into the next world. It was highly unusual for a mate to hunt down an animal, let alone guide its spirit. That was usually the privilege of the most skilled hunter – and certainly not the task of a sacred one.

Neither of them were surprised at the sour expression that briefly appeared on Nikita’s face before the village leader called for all hunters to gather and get the rest of the elk. Its meat would not only feed Victor and Yuuri, but support the entire village. That naturally called for celebrations, and it was decided that there would a feast be held with music and dances at nightfall. But neither of them truly cared for it. The moment they were finally back at their hut, Makkachin greeted them happily, wagging her tail and jumping up at them to lick their faces. Viktor cuddled and kissed her until she had enough of him and moved on to Yuuri, barking at him as if to ask where they had been. Yuuri sat down at the fireplace, scratching Makkachin behind the ear and watching Viktor add some logs to keep the fire going and their hut warm and cosy. Neither of them spoke, their thoughts going back to the cave, and to the things they had said to each other – and to the things they now knew.

Viktor rose from the fireplace, walking over to a chest in the corner. Yuuri leant forward a little, watching as Viktor rummaged through the chest. Eventually, he pulled out something that was wrapped into a pretty cloth, similar to the ones that Yuuri’s mother had made with the other women during winter. Viktor rose again, making his way over to the shelf that had been hewn into the stone wall of their home that faced the cliffs. Yuuri had always wondered what its purpose was, and why Viktor had left it empty. But now, Viktor unfolded the cloth, revealing a pretty, small figurine of a faceless woman in a long gown. The figurine was entirely made of wood, but it had been polished carefully and was now shining in the light of the fire. Viktor put the cloth into the shelf and placed the figurine on it, moving it around until he was satisfied with what he saw.

Yuuri hadn’t known that Viktor owned a figurine of the Goddess of the Moon, but now, it made sense. It felt right to have one, he thought, to have an altar dedicated to her.

Viktor then said something, turning his head to look at Yuuri. He gestured at the figurine’s face and then at himself, shaking his head. Yuuri frowned a little, not sure what Viktor meant. His husband repeated his words, slower this time, and Yuuri understood the word ‘remember’. Viktor gestured at the figurine’s face again as he spoke and shook his head.

It took Yuuri a few moments to understand what Viktor was trying to say.

“I can’t remember her face either,” he said softly and rose from his place by the fire, coming to stand beside his husband. “Perhaps this is why every figurine of her is without a face.”

Viktor wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him close and kissing his hair.

“You are my goddess, too,” he said, and this time, Yuuri had no problems to understand him.

Yuuri turned his head, gently kissing Viktor on the lips. “You are my god,” he whispered.

They stood like this for a while, watching the figurine of the Holy Mother, the light of the flames reflecting on the polished wood. It felt right to have her there, in the centre of their home, watching over them. They were blessed now, and could be sure of her protection. From now on, they would honour her name more, and take care of the altar.

That night, the village gathered under the tree where they had gotten married to celebrate their successful hunt. Every family of the village had contributed to the feast, the food almost resembling the one served at a wedding, especially combined with the music and dances. The elders called for the children to come closer and sit around the fire, telling them the stories of their ancestors. Soon, the entire village was listening, listening to stories as old as time. Viktor and Yuuri were amongst them, too, now with their very own connection to those stories. They had seen the proof that all stories about the gods were real, that there was indeed someone watching over them.

As the night went on, the songs became more wistful, and soon, they were singing the song of the orphan. Yuuri curled up on Viktor’s lap, resting his head on his shoulder as he listened to the women singing the ancient song. Yelena’s voice was amongst them, and that alone made Viktor hold his mate tighter. To be the only ones that knew the true meaning behind the song, that it was not just fiction but an ancient prophecy that had come true, dared to overwhelm them both, and only the presence of the other seemed to keep them calm. Yuuri felt Viktor’s hand on the small of his back, soothing and reassuring as the women sang. He sighed, hiding his face in Viktor’s neck, pressing a gentle kiss to his skin.

For everyone else, it was just a song.

For them, it was a reminder that nothing in their world was the way it seemed at first glance.

* * *

A few days later, Yuuri found himself on the back of a cart, sitting between Mila and a rather excited Yuri. Beside the cart stood Yakov, his hand on the reins of the horse and his eyes fixed on the back of Viktor, who was exchanging a few words with his father.

For the very first time since his wedding, Yuuri would leave the village and meet other northerners, up the coast in the main settlement of the snow leopards. Viktor had told him about the upcoming market a while ago, and so had Mila, who was just as equally excited as the rest of them. Markets like these were held every two moons and were not just the perfect place for trade, but also to meet friends and family and forge new bonds.

Nikita, however, would not come with them. Yelena was not feeling well and the clan leader did not want to leave her behind – after all, the trip to the market took several hours, hence their departure was early in the morning, just after sunrise. For now, Viktor would take his father’s place and represent their clan. Just for this occasion, Viktor had put on his best clothing, made of the finest leather that accentuated his figure perfectly.

Yuuri found it very hard to stop staring at his husband’s backside. It was one thing to see Viktor entirely naked, the way he’d been born, and to see him clad in the finest leather. In their home, he was just Viktor, but when dressed like this, he was very much what he was born to be – the future leader of the clan. And although Yuuri cared little for Viktor’s title, he had to admit that the thought of Viktor being such an important figure made his mouth go a little dry.

Eventually, Nikita patted Viktor’s shoulder encouragingly and stepped back so that his son could mount his horse. The stallion was an incredibly beautiful animal, tall and proud, perfect for a man like Viktor. And Viktor himself looked like a god on the back of his horse, his silver hair shining in the light of the rising sun.

Yuuri was sure that this sight alone would keep him well-entertained.

Yakov took a seat on the box of the cart and took the reins into his hands, leading their cart onto the road. Viktor rode right at their side, smiling down at Yuuri as if he were the happiest man on earth.

“Are you excited?” He asked Yuuri. “To go to the market?”

Yuuri understood well enough, and leant over in the cart, resting his arms on the edge. “I like markets,” he smiled.

“God, you two make me puke,” Yuri groaned. “Fucking hell.”

“Yuri! Language!” Yakov barked.

Viktor laughed. “Let him be, Yakov,” he said. “The kitten is just nervous.”

“I’m not!” His brother roared, but it could not be denied that Yuri blushed at Viktor’s words, and that he gripped his sword a little tighter.

Mila laughed beside him. “He’s awfully cute, isn’t he,” she said and ruffled Yuri’s blonde hair, much to the boy’s anger. “He’ll participate in the tournament today,” she informed Yuuri in Japanese. “It’s nothing important, of course, just an opportunity for the youths to show off. Yuri is finally old enough to challenge young adults.”

“I see,” Yuuri said, glancing down at the polished sword that the boy kept close. It was smaller than a regular sword, and probably lighter as well, but it looked no less deadly than the one that Viktor currently carried on his belt. For Viktor, however, the sword was just for show; a sign that he was not an ordinary farmer or fisherman, but a person of high rank.

“What do you need from the market?” Yuuri asked Mila.

“Oh, I want to restock some of my herbs,” she told him. “The healer up there is famous for her herb garden, and she managed to grow some rather exotic ones there, too. I want to ask her if she also has that brown stuff that people in the eastern provinces use against labour pain. Our women would benefit greatly from that.” She patted her herb bag at that. “What about you? Any items you want to buy?”

“Not really,” Yuuri said, touching the pouch of money attached to his belt. “We have everything. Perhaps I can find something for the altar. Viktor put it up just recently.”

“Getting religious these days, huh,” Mila said and raised an eyebrow, briefly glancing at Viktor who was talking to Yakov. “Not a side that I know of him.”

Yuuri shifted awkwardly on the cart. Of course, he could not tell Mila what had happened to them – she would have surely declared him insane. “Viktor thinks it’s good for the house,” he said, and it was only a small lie. After all, they truly believed it was good for the house. “Maybe we can find some ornaments for the altar.”

“There are some good craftsmen at the markets, usually,” Mila said. “I’m sure you can find something nice. Just keep an eye on that husband of yours. He tends to spend money without thinking sometimes. Remember, you’re in charge of the money.”

Yuuri blushed at the thought of being actually the one in charge of their finances. And it was true – he was the one to carry the keys to their chests where they kept their money, not Viktor. If Viktor wanted money, he had to ask Yuuri. So far, that had not been necessary, until the previous night during their preparation for the market.

“Hey, are you talking about me?!” Viktor asked with a frown, glaring at Mila.

Mila stuck her tongue out at him. “I’m just telling your mate to keep you on a short leash.”

Viktor gasped. “No, Yuuuuri!”

“Fucking stop it!” Yuri yelled.

It did not take long before other travellers joined them on their way. Never before had Yuuri been around so many northerners, around so many people with bright blue eyes like Viktor’s and hair as fair as Yuri’s. But what baffled him the most was how friendly they were towards him, all of them reaching out to squeeze his hands in greeting upon learning that he was Viktor’s infamous mate that everyone had been talking about. Especially the women were eager to greet him, running their hands through his dark hair in awe and admiring the soft skin of his hands. Viktor, knowing that all this attention easily became too much for his mate, had Yuuri join him on the back of his stallion after some time. It felt incredibly scandalous to be so close to his husband out in public, and Yuuri couldn’t help but blush furiously each time Viktor dipped his head and pressed a gentle kiss to Yuuri’s temple, cheek, or neck. He was aware of the stares of the others, and heard the excited giggles of the women each time Viktor showed him such affection, but after a while, he stopped caring. He closed his eyes and leant back against Viktor’s chest, breathing in the scent that he had grown to love so much. Viktor’s hand had come to rest on his belly, both protectively and also reassuringly. Yuuri couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like to have Viktor’s child growing in his belly, and how excited his husband would be. Oh, he was sure that Viktor would hardly let go of him again, determined to protect him and their child from any harm.

Until then, they simply had to trust in the goddess to fulfil them their wish.

They reached the settlements of the snow leopards around midday, spotting the smoke of their fires from afar already. More and more travellers joined their group as they came closer to the main settlement at the very bottom of the mountains. Never before had Yuuri been so high up north, so close to what the northerners called the Bridge, the very place where Heaven and Earth met. The mountains looked even more imposing now that he was so close to them, and Yuuri was sure he would have been intimidated by them had he not had Viktor at his side. The busy atmosphere of the village and the market did the rest to distract him. Yuuri couldn’t help but look around in awe, trying to listen to the particular dialect that these northerners spoke.

Finally, they reached the centre of the village and the largest hut of them all, made of stone just like theirs and Nikita’s at home – the house of the clan leader. Viktor got off the horse and pulled Yuuri down as well, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips as he held him in his arms for a moment.

Yuuri smiled into the kiss, ignoring the annoyed yells of his brother-in-law in the background.

“Viktor.”

They pulled apart as someone called Viktor’s name, and turned around to the person that had spoken. A sturdy, middle-aged man with a rather serious expression on his face came out of the hut, his hair a dark brown and a stark contrast to the blonde that Yuuri had gotten used to seeing in the north.

“Amir,” Viktor said with a smile and embraced the man like an old friend.

“Here as your father’s substitute?” The man called Amir asked after glancing at the cart and not finding Nikita.

“My mother is not feeling well, and my father did not want to leave her alone,” Viktor explained.

“That is noble of him,” Amir said. “Do send your mother my regards, please. And your father, too.”

“I will,” Viktor promised. “Amir, I would like to introduce my mate to you. Yuuri, this is Amir,” he said slowly to make sure Yuuri understood. “He is the clan leader.”

Yuuri bowed his head respectfully towards the other man. “It is an honour,” he said in his best Russian.

Amir laughed. “A fine mate you have there, Viktor,” he said. “I must admit I was eager to see him. A sacred one, what a rare match indeed! You are blessed, my boy, very much blessed. Ah, Yakov! Good to see you again!”

Viktor and Yuuri stepped aside as the older men began to talk, helping the others to unload the boxes with the things they wanted to sell. Yuri stood beside them, the sword in his hand, his gaze flickering at the clan leader’s house every now and then.

“I bet your heart’s desire is already at the training grounds,” Viktor joked.

Yuri glared at him. “I fucking hate you,” he spat and walked away, right into the direction of the place his brother had named.

“Yuuri,” Viktor said, taking his mate’s hands. “Can you go with Mila? I have to discuss a few things with Amir in my father’s name.”

Yuuri understood the gist of it, nodding. “I go with Mila,” he said. “Don’t lose money,” he added softly.

“I won’t,” Viktor chuckled and kissed him gently on the lips, only letting him go as Mila cleared her throat.

“Come,” she said to Yuuri and linked her arm with his. “We’ll do some shopping and meet Silverlock at the training grounds for the tournament later.”

Yuuri chuckled and waved at his husband one more time before following Mila into the orderly chaos of the market.

In many ways, the market was very much like the ones Yuuri had always visited with his family as a child. There were craftsmen offering their goods for sale, blacksmiths, carpenters, artisans. There were musicians entertaining children, fortune tellers claiming to read the will of the gods in the feathers of birds, farmers selling horses, sheep, and chicken. It was so much that Yuuri barely knew where to look first.

The healer Mila had been talking about sold her herbs outside her home, offering a large variety of plants, both fresh and dried. Mila was over the moon at the large display, immediately starting a debate with the healer and the other women, speaking in such rapid Russian that Yuuri was barely able to understand a single thing. He knew, however, to tell the herbs apart by merely looking at them, and managed to refill his own bag as well as making some additions. Should Viktor ever get a cold, he would be able to stop the worst from coming. Should Viktor ever feel ill after a meal, he would be able to soothe his upset stomach. Should Viktor ever have sleepless nights again, he would be able to make him a brew that would guide him into the realm of dreams.

Afterwards, Mila bought him something to eat from a nearby stand, a snack that she explained was called pirozhki and warmed them from the inside out. With the food in their hands, they made their way through the market towards the training grounds where the tournament would be held, and they arrived just in time to run into Viktor and Yakov there. Viktor pulled Yuuri into his arms, laughing as Yuuri offered him a bite of the pirozhki.

“Did we miss anything?” Mila asked, leaning against the wooden barrier.

“Yuri has defeated his first two opponents with ease,” Viktor said. “But the most important fight is yet to come.” He gestured at his brother who stood on the middle of the training grounds, his blonde hair pulled back in a bun, his eyes fixed on his last opponent. On the other side of the field stood a young man, barely taller than Yuri himself but older by at least three years. His hair was dark and cut short at the sides. His skin was darker, too, as if he had been working in the sun his whole life.

“His name is Otabek,” Viktor explained to Yuuri, hugging him from behind. “Amir’s youngest son and Yura’s friend.”

“And Yura’s nemesis,” Yakov muttered. “Finally, they are able to fight against each other. It is what Yura has been training for. He will do well.”

“Huh,” Mila said, studying the other boy from head to toe. “Otabek is still short but has grown a lot. He wasn’t such an impressive figure last time I saw him.”

Yakov nodded in agreement. “He is one of the best swordsmen in the north,” he said. “It will not be easy for Yura to win. But he has a real chance if he remembers what he has been taught.”

Otabek took his sword from the young woman standing behind him, briefly pulling her into a hug before stepping out onto the field.

“His sister,” Viktor said, answering Yuuri’s unspoken question. “Maya, if I remember correctly.”

They watched wordlessly as Otabek and Yuri approached each other, their swords firmly in their hands. No one would have believed them to be friends in that moment, especially not with Yuri glaring at the other boy in determination that barely concealed his nervousness. It did not happen often that the sons of clan leaders were not only friends, but also opponents. They were both well aware of the many eyes watching them, and that although there was no honour at stake, a fight like this could define their reputations forever.

Yuri changed his posture as Otabek stood before him, reaching out to shake his hand.

“I fear I’ve got to warn you,” he smirked. “I’m planning to win this tournament. I won’t go easy on you.”

Otabek nodded. “Good. Then I will pull out all the stops, too.”

“Of course you will,” Yuri hissed. “Don’t you dare to give less than your best.”

The corner of Otabek’s mouth twitched. “Very well,” he said and let go of Yuri’s hand again, taking a few steps back to get into position.

Yuri did the same, taking a few deep breaths.

“Fight!”

Their swords clashed the moment their fight began, the deafening screeching sound of metal against metal cutting the air as they began their dance. Yuri had been trained in the art of the bow, the spear, and the sword, and although he was good at all of them, it was the sword that was the most deadly in his hands. Despite his tender frame and fairy-like appearance, he was not to be underestimated, the sword in his hands the deadliest weapon that could end the other boy’s life in an instant. But Otabek was not an amateur either. He wielded the sword as if it were nothing, his footwork almost like the one of a dancer, as if the sword in his hands weighed nothing. For a bystander, it seemed as if neither Yuri nor Otabek were actually touching the ground but floating. Otabek was older and more experienced, but Yuri was lighter, easily escaping each attempt of the other boy. With a cry, they pushed the other away, standing apart for a moment to take a breath.

“Otabek is struggling,” Yakov said and crossed his arms, sounding strangely satisfied.

And indeed – it was Otabek who was breathing heavier, not Yuuri.

“You made progress, truly,” he said, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his arm. “I didn’t have problems with you in the past.”

Yuri smirked, spitting on the ground. “Told you,” he said, gripping his sword tightly again.

“You’re using your light weight and your speed against me,” Otabek said, beginning to circle Yuri slowly. “But your arms are weaker than mine.”

“You’re just too slow,” Yuri replied, moving with him in circles. “Feeling the old age already?”

Otabek raised an eyebrow, barely noticeable. “I’m eighteen.”

“As I said,” Yuri stated, coming to stand again. “You’re old.”

And with that, he darted forward, too fast for anyone but Otabek to see what he was aiming for, and the other boy barely managed to escape the deadly blade.

“He’s wounded,” Yakov murmured as Otabek raised his hand to touch his cheek. “Barely. But wounded. It’s the first time Yura has ever injured someone like that. I wonder how he will react.”

Yuri’s reaction was instant.

His face fell at the sight of the blood, losing focus just for a second, which Otabek used to strike again. The people screamed as Otabek’s sword descended upon Yuri, but then, with a swift kick, Otabek had Yuri falling, the tip of his blade against the boy’s throat.

The people erupted into cheers, calling Otabek’s name in their applause. His friends stormed onto the field, very much like Viktor’s the day he had fought against Yuuri at the archery contest. But unlike Viktor, Otabek merely let them pat his shoulder. Instead, he reached out and pulled Yuri onto his feet, exchanging a few words with him which the other boy accepted wordlessly.

“Uh-oh,” Viktor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Yuri came walking back towards them, his ears burning in shame, his gaze lowered and his hands curled into fists at his sides. His sword he carried as if it were a worthless thing, as if he wanted to do nothing more but to toss it aside.

The moment he stood before them, he rammed his sword into the ground and glared at Viktor.

“One word from you and I’ll fucking tear you into shreds,” he hissed.

“You were really good,” Viktor said, entirely unimpressed by his brother’s threat.

“Not good enough, obviously!” Yuri shouted, his eyes filling with angry tears.

“No, good,” Yuuri said softly. “Good work.”

Yuri glared at him, too, but not as much as he glared at Viktor. “I was not good, katsudon,” he stated. “I fucking lost.”

“You lost because you couldn’t bear to see your friend injured because of you,” Yakov said calmly. “That is noble of you, and justified in fights like these. This is a tournament. Not war. You can afford to show empathy. And besides,” he reached for Yuri’s sword and pulled it out of the ground again, “Otabek was about to lose.”

Yuri stared at his uncle. “What?”

“He twisted his ankle just before you cut him,” Yakov said, thrusting the sword back into Yuri’s hands. “Had you not hesitated, he would have lost. I’m sure he knows this.”

Yuri stared at his uncle for a moment, then turned around on the heel and rushed back across the field to Otabek.

Mila sighed. “Well,” she said, “that was interesting. To see the kitten in action.”

“He’s not a kitten anymore, I dare to say,” Viktor said with a small smile, watching as Yuri gestured at Otabek’s foot and offered him his arm to help him off the training grounds.

“Your father would be proud of him, I guess,” Mila hummed.

Yakov huffed. “Nikita would have slapped him.”

* * *

Heavy rain began to fall shortly afterwards, and did not stop as nightfall came, leaving their entire group at the mercy of the villagers.

“It is far too dangerous for you to travel home in this weather,” Amir declared with a single glance at the clouded sky above. “You will stay with us tonight. My home is always open for the sons of Nikita, and for those who come with them.”

They had therefore soon found themselves sitting at the fire in the large home of the clan leader, welcomed warmly by his family. His wife Alana had prepared a small feast for them, making sure their bowls were always full and that they had enough to drink. Yuuri’s offer to help her she promptly declined, wanting him not to work but enjoy himself in her home. He was soon surrounded by the younger children, two little girls who had never seen a sacred one before, just like their older siblings – but unlike them, they were unable to contain their curiosity. Only as Amir told them to leave the poor boy alone, Yuuri got to eat his meal in peace, sitting close to Viktor and listening to the conversations around him, even if he did not understand most of them.

Yuri had calmed down as well, sitting by the fire right next to Otabek, the boys talking about this and that, as if they had not been fighting like rabid cats on the training grounds merely hours ago. Otabek’s foot was wrapped into tight bandages to support his ankle, but other than that, he seemed fine – the cut on his cheek was nothing but a scratch.

“So, Yuuri,” Amir said when they had finished eating, resting his hands on top of his knees. “You come from the south, I’ve heard?”

“Huh?” Yuuri looked up, surprised at being spoken to, and the other man had to repeat his words slowly for him to understand. “Oh. Yes. From south.”

“Who is your father?”

“Toshiya.”

“From the Katsuki clan, then!” Amir said with a nod. “Viktor, you have a fine mate there, with excellent heritage.”

“I know,” Viktor smiled, wrapping an arm around Yuuri’s middle. “I could not be happier.”

Alana chuckled, sitting down beside her husband. “I remember when we were in the honeymoon phase of our marriage,” she said. “Right, Amir? We were just like that.”

Amir laughed, patting his wife’s hand. “Keep some of that time in your marriage, my boy,” he advised Viktor. “Life is a great struggle already. Let your marriage be the safe haven you can return to. Honour your mate like you honour the gods.”

“That I do,” Viktor assured him, smiling down at Yuuri lovingly. “I will always honour my Yuuri.”

Alana sighed softly. “God, they are awfully sweet,” she said and rose. “I’ll go and prepare the beds. Has anyone seen Otabek?”

“He and Yuri went outside for a bit,” Mila said, emptying the rest of her drink.

“Boys their age need to get out of the house when adults are speaking,” Amir said, nodding his head. “But it is late already. I think we should all go to bed like good Yakov.” He gestured at the old man who had fallen asleep against the wall, the cup of beer still in his hand.

“I suggest we get out of the way so that Alana can work,” Viktor said. “We’ll just stand outside under the roof for a bit. Some fresh air would do us good, right, Yuuri?”

Yuuri merely smiled at him and rose with him, joining their hands.

“I’ll help you, Alana,” Mila said and followed the woman to the back of the hut. Viktor laced his finger’s with Yuuri’s and they stepped outside into the cool air of the night. The rain had lessened, now merely a soft drizzle coming from above. Nonetheless, it had been good to stay for the night and not risking the horses breaking their legs on the muddy roads. Viktor put his arms around Yuuri from behind and rested his chin on top of his head, humming softly to himself. Yuuri leant into his embrace, closing his eyes.

“Are you well?” Viktor asked in accentuated Japanese, but the attempt alone made Yuuri’s heart soar nonetheless.

“Yes,” he whispered in Russian. “You?”

Viktor hummed in return. “I’m with you,” he said. “That means I’m the happiest man on earth.” He pressed a gentle kiss to Yuuri’s hair, just before his mate turned around in his embrace and wrapped his arms around his neck.

“I don’t understand,” Yuuri stated, much to Viktor’s disappointment. “But I love you.”

With that, Yuuri stood on his toes and pressed their lips together, sweet, unhurried, with all the time in the world. Viktor melted into the kiss, parting his lips for Yuuri as his tongue demanded entrance, gasping into his mouth. Yuuri tasted like the sweet wine they had been drinking, and smelled like summer rain and flowers, all of it sitting deep in Viktor’s memory as the unmistakable signs of his mate. Of his Yuuri.

He deepened their kiss, earning a moan in return.

“Wow, Yuuri,” Viktor chuckled against his lips. “So eager already…?”

But Yuuri pulled away with a frown, just in time for Viktor to realise that the moan he had heard had not come from Yuuri. It came from around the corner, it seemed, barely muffled by the sounds of rain. And then, there was a whimper, like the one of a suffering child.

Viktor and Yuuri exchanged a confused look, and before either of them could stop the other, they stepped out into the rain and followed the sounds.

The rain seemed to become stronger again the moment they left their protected space under the roof, the mud clinging to their shoes as they followed the sounds of distress that seemed to come from the nearby shed. As they came closer, they found the door slightly ajar, and a scratching sound coming from within.

Slowly, they approached the door, peeking inside.

At first, they could see nothing, for it was dark in the shed, and the moon hidden by the clouds that night. But then, lightning flashed over the night sky, just bright enough to illuminate the shed for a second, followed by the roll of thunder. At first, it was only a shapeless thing, then two people, their arms around each other’s naked bodies as they moved together on the hay, a tanned hand buried in fair blonde hair, pale fingers digging into muscular shoulders.

And then, as if the gods had just decided to ruin their day, their eyes met Yuri’s.

“Fucking hell!” Yuri screamed and kicked Otabek off him, just as Yuuri grabbed Viktor by the arm and pulled him away from the door before his husband could do anything he would regret later. Otabek groaned as his head hit the back wall of the shed.

“I didn’t see this, oh god, I didn’t see this,” Viktor hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose, visibly seething as the boys struggled to put their clothes back on.

But they had very much seen it, seen everything, and Yuuri didn’t even dare to imagine what was going through his husband’s head in this moment. He squeezed his hands several times, both in reassurance and in warning, silently begging him to stay calm.

Viktor took a few deep breaths, then turned his head to look at his brother who still lay in the hay, half-dressed and his shirt having put on the wrong way, looking anywhere but at his brother.

Viktor looked at Otabek. “Your mother is looking for you,” he said, his voice surprisingly calm for a man that had just caught his brother with another boy. “I suggest you go to her. I need to talk to my brother.”

Otabek nodded faintly, moving to stand and pulling up his trousers as he did so.

“Beka…” Yuri breathed, grabbing the boy’s hands and pulling him down again for a kiss, hard and passionate, a kiss of true lovers more than anything else.

Yuuri and Viktor averted their gaze, pretending not to be there until they saw Otabek leave out of the corner of their eye.

Finally, they were alone.

Yuri ran his hands through his hair before rubbing his face, not caring at all, it seemed, about his dishevelled state. Instead, he looked more like a boy fearing the consequences of his actions, a sight neither Viktor nor Yuuri got to witness very often when it came to the boy.

Yuuri was not sure if he was supposed to stay, but he knew that if he left, either Yuri or Viktor would say or do things they would deeply regret later. Their hotheadedness would be the end of them one day if they were not careful.

Viktor took a deep breath. “Care to explain?” He asked.

Yuri glared at his brother. “He wasn’t raping me, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said, and Viktor was sure he was only staying calm like that because he didn’t want the whole village to hear.

“I didn’t think he was,” Viktor said. “For how long has this been going on?”

“That’s none of your fucking business.”

“I’m afraid it is,” Viktor said sharply. “Yura, you are fifteen-“

“So what?!” Yuri snapped. “You were fifteen too when Mama found you fooling around with that guy Chris!”

“Chris was the same age as I,” Viktor snapped back, feeling Yuuri’s grip on his arm tighten a little. “Otabek is eighteen.”

“Three years is nothing!” Yuri said. “You’ve got more years between the two of you!”

“We are both consenting adults and married,” Viktor gave back.

“Is this because I’m fucking someone out of wedlock?!”

“He is an adult and you are not! And he is engaged!”

Yuri stared at him with wide eyes.

“You are lying,” he whispered.

Viktor shook his head. “Amir told me this morning that he’s currently arranging Otabek’s marriage with the daughter of-“

“YOU ARE LYING!” Yuri had risen from the hay, pointing at his brother accusingly as the tears streamed down his face. “YOU ARE A FUCKING LIAR!”

“Yuri, I would never lie to you,” Viktor said and took a step towards his brother, his hands raised in defence. “I know this is not what you want to hear, but it is the truth. Amir has told me this morning that he’s been talking to-“

But Yuri had already started to attack him, his fists trying to reach every inch of Viktor’s body as he screamed and kicked, the tears streaming down his face until he had no strength left. Yuuri had never seen a sadder sight, the sight of a young boy collapsing in his brother’s arms with a broken heart.

“It’s not true,” Yuri breathed. “It’s not true...”

Viktor wrapped his arms around his younger brother as the boy sobbed against his chest.

“I’m sure that Otabek doesn’t even know of it yet,” he murmured.

And Yuuri, not knowing what else to do, joined them in their embrace, and held Yuri close as he mourned a love that he could never have.

* * *

The following morning was a cold one, their breath freezing in the air as they prepared for departure. They had packed their things the night before already, and their horses were well-rested for the way back home. Yuuri had already said goodbye to the Altin family, sitting on the cart besides Yuri, who looked anywhere but at Otabek.

Otabek himself stood beside his mother, his hands clasped behind his back, dark shadows under his eyes.

“It was a pleasure to have you here, Viktor,” Amir said and patted his shoulder. “Send your parents my regards. I will pray for a speedy recovery of your honourable mother.”

“Thank you,” Viktor said and bowed his head. “And thank you for your hospitality.”

“Always, my boy, always,” Amir nodded. “I hope you can come to the wedding celebrations, if the negotiations work out in our favour.”

“About that…” Viktor said quietly, pulling the man aside. “About Otabek’s engagement… I think you should give it another thought. Perhaps it is not the wisest decision.”

Amir frowned, briefly glancing at his son. “Have you heard bad things of the girl’s family?” He whispered.

Viktor shook his head. “I’m saying that Otabek is young, and not your heir,” he murmured. “Wait a little longer so he can perhaps choose a mate himself.”

Amir frowned at him, as if not sure how to understand Viktor’s words. But he nodded.

“I’ll think on it,” he said. “Yuri?”

He approached the cart, patting the blonde boy’s head. “You fought well yesterday. Have this amulet of our priestess as a reward.”

Yuri took the amulet without looking up, murmuring a small thank you.

“He didn’t sleep well last night,” Viktor lied. “Forgive him, please.”

Amir chuckled. “Of course,” he said. “Have a safe journey home.”

Viktor mounted his horse and bowed his head towards Amir once more. Their cart began to move, rolling down the road to the path that would take them home.

As soon as they were out of sight, Yuri began to cry in silence.

Yuuri held him close, the whole way home.

Neither Mila nor Yakov asked any questions.

It was late in the afternoon when they finally arrived at home, the villagers coming to greet them the moment they climbed off the cart. Nikita was among them, looking expectantly at Viktor and Yuri, holding out his arms for his sons.

“Welcome home,” he said, pulling Viktor into a brief hug. “And Yura, how was your—”

But Yuri had already stormed past him, heading home without looking anyone in the eye.

Nikita raised an eyebrow. “What happened?”

“He’s just upset that he lost against Otabek,” Viktor lied smoothly and turned to lift Yuuri off the cart. “How is Mama?”

Nikita scratched the back of his head. “Better, but still not feeling too well,” he replied. “Perhaps her blood is late. You know how she is. She claims to be fine and works through it. How were the talks with Amir?”

“He sends his regards and approves of the current changes,” Viktor said. “They will be at the clan meeting, as usual.”

“Good.” Nikita seemed pleased for now, his gaze falling onto Yuuri, who helped Mila carrying her purchases home. Viktor crossed his arms over his chest, ready to defend his mate against his father if he had to. But Nikita said nothing of the sort.

“Watching your mate being ill is no fun, my son,” he said softly. “See to it that Yuuri stays healthy. Trust me.”

Viktor nodded, surprised at the gentleness of his father’s words, and watched the older man walk away to exchange a few words with Yakov.

With Yuuri busy and his father occupied as well, Viktor took the opportunity to go and see his mother. The door stood ajar as he approached the house, his younger brother pushing his few belongings up the ladder into the hayloft.

“Do you need help?” Viktor asked, but Yuri ignored him, throwing his bag up into the hay and disappearing under the roof.

Viktor sighed.

“Vitya?” His mother came out of the pantry attached to their home, wiping her hands on her apron. At his sight, she smiled, and pulled him into her arms. “Welcome home. Where is Yura?”

Viktor gestured at the hayloft. “I suggest you let him be for a while,” he whispered. “He has… a few things to think about.”

Yelena frowned softly, but being a mother, she understood that there were things that a young adult like Yuri had to go through on his own. “How was the journey?” She asked instead, gesturing at the furs by the fire. “Did Yuuri enjoy himself?”

“Very much, I think,” Viktor said and sat down where his mother directed him to. “Mama, are you alright?”

“Why, yes,” Yelena said, pouring her son a cup of home-brewed beer. “Just feeling a little under the weather.”

“Did you consult Lilia or-“

“I’m fine, darling,” Yelena assured him and kissed the top of his head. “I was just working too hard. Alyona’s husband needed care.”

“Oh,” Viktor frowned. “Is it not getting better with him?”

Yelena shook her head and sat down beside him. “Unfortunately, no. I’ve been going to her place day and night. I just need to get a good night of sleep, that is all.”

Viktor could not help but notice the paleness of his mother’s face and the small pearls of sweat on her forehead that seemed to indicate a fever, but he remained quiet. His mother was as good as a healer, skilled and knew more about the human body that Viktor ever would. It would be of no use to ask her to go and see Lilia or Mila.

Nonetheless, he felt uneasy as he left the house of his parents and headed home.

Makkachin almost threw him over as he entered, barking and happily wagging her tail at his return. Viktor chuckled and gave her a few good cuddles, much to Yuuri’s delight, who was busy packing away their purchases. Once Makkachin let go, Viktor rose to his feet again and pulled Yuuri closer for a quick kiss.

“I have something for you,” he said. “Where did you put my bag?”

Yuuri needed a moment to understand, but then went to get what Viktor asked for, watching curiously as Viktor pulled out several objects. Most of them were for the altar, small things that Viktor carefully placed around their figurine of the goddess. At the bottom of the bag, however, he had something only for his mate.

“Close your eyes,” Viktor said, covering his eyes with one hand to show what he meant.

Yuuri chuckled, sitting down and closing his eyes obediently.

Viktor checked once more that Yuuri truly was not watching before he pulled out his gift and carefully placed it on Yuuri’s lap.

“Open your eyes,” Viktor said, kneeling down beside him.

Yuuri did as he was told, blinking a few times, staring down at the stack of parchment, the bottle of ink, and the quill on his lap. His eyes widened and he gasped in shock, staring at Viktor in awe before looking down at the parchment again, not even daring to touch it.

“Now you can write,” Viktor said softly. “And with a knife we can scratch off the ink once it’s dried, so you can use the parchment several times.”

Yuuri was still unable to speak, tears filling his eyes as he kept staring at this most precious gift. Parchment and ink were incredibly expensive, only sold for sums that could feed an entire family for a whole year.

“How…” Yuuri whispered. “Money… so much…?”

Viktor touched his hand. “I traded one of my swords in exchange for the ink and parchment,” he said, knowing that his mate knew the word for sword and would understand.

“What?!” Yuuri shrieked. “Your sword?! Viktor!”

“It’s okay, Yuuri, really,” Viktor assured him and grasped both of his hands. “I have two more. That sword was not special to me. But you are. And I want to make you happy. Okay?” He kissed Yuuri’s knuckles before reaching up to wipe the tears away with his thumb.

Yuuri needed a while to calm down from the shock, putting the parchment, the ink, and the quill aside with shaking hands, storing them away safely in one of their boxes. And then, almost like a child, he buried his face in Viktor’s chest and held onto him.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Viktor kissed the top of his head. “I love you, too.”

* * *

It was in the middle of the night when they heard the banging on their door, and someone shouting their names.

Yuuri sat up in bed first, his eyes wide as he came to his senses, shaking Viktor awake. A moment later, Viktor stumbled out of bed, not caring that he was naked, hurrying to the door and pulling back the lock. Yuuri wrapped the furs around his body, slipping out of bed just as Viktor opened the door.

“Yura!” Viktor said with a frown at the sight of his brother. “It’s the middle of the night—"

“You have to come, Mama is ill!” Yuri breathed, his face pale and his eyes wide in fear. “Please, Viktor, I can’t—”

Viktor and Yuuri exchanged a single look.

In record speed, they put on their clothes and ran after Yuri through the night to the house of the clan leader, hearing the screams of the woman already from afar. The door stood ajar, the light of the fire illuminating the path outside as they arrived, bursting into the hut.

Yelena lay on the floor, clad in nothing but her shift, her head in Nikita’s lap, the hands of her husband around her wrists as he tried to hold her still. But her body spasmed, her feet kicking uncontrollably as she screamed like a rabid animal, the sound of it splitting their ears.

“Mama!” Viktor fell to his knees beside her, trying to grab her, to hold her still. “Mama, please…” But it was of no use. The door flew open once more and Lilia, Yakov, and Mila came in, the women immediately kneeling down beside Yelena, showing Viktor aside.

“When did this start?” Lilia asked, grabbing Yelena’s face and slapping her cheek. “Sister, can you hear me?”

“She woke up and said she was feeling ill,” Nikita managed to press out, his voice shaking for the very first time. “She… she left the bed and after two steps she fell and…”

“What’s wrong with her?” Yuri cried from Yuuri’s side. “Mama!”

“Is she possessed by an evil spirit?” Nikita asked, looking at Lilia with wide eyes.

Lilia did not reply.

“Yuuri, I need you here,” Mila called, and Yuuri let go of his brother-in-law to assist the midwife that had begun to examine Yelena’s body. “Find some cloth and stuff it into her mouth, or she might bite off her—”

The words died on Mila’s tongue as the fabric of the white shift began to bloom a deep red, blood staining Mila’s hand resting on her thigh.

Yelena went very still in Nikita’s arms, the silence that followed almost deafening.

“Get Yura out of here,” Lilia commanded, and Yakov grabbed the boy by the shoulders, ignoring his terrified screams as he dragged him outside.

“What’s wrong with her?!” Nikita cried, shaking his wife. “Yelena!”

“A miscarriage,” Mila said. “Yuuri, take the brown herbs I bought and prepare a potion.”

Yuuri nodded and grabbed the herb bag from the floor.

“Can you save her?” Nikita breathed, grabbing Lilia’s wrist. “Please, tell me-“

“I don’t know,” Lilia said honestly and looked over her shoulder. “Viktor, get out.”

But Viktor was frozen in shock, staring down at his mother with wide eyes, unable to move. “Viktor!”

“Viktor, get out,” Yuuri said, grabbing his husband and pushing him towards the door.

“Mama…” Viktor whispered, unable to take his eyes off her.

“We’ll do what we can,” Yuuri whispered and pressed a quick kiss to his lips before pushing him outside and closing the door.

Mila called him back to Yelena’s side, a hand on Yelena’s stomach, rubbing firmly as the other hand reached under the woman’s shift between her legs.

“Is the potion boiling?” She asked over Lilia’s chanted prayers as she worked. “Pour cold water over it when it’s done, and make her drink it. She needs to drink it all, do you hear me? All of it. Not a single drop must be wasted.”

“Yes, Mila,” Yuuri managed to say and went back to the kettle, taking the potion off the fire and doing as he was told, fishing out the cooked herbs and throwing them into a bowl. The herbs curled as the cold water was poured over them, their pungent smell hitting Yuuri’s nose and almost causing him to throw up. But he pulled himself together and crouched down beside Yelena, bringing the bowl to her lips and pouring the potion down her throat. Yelena began to cough, coming back to her senses, crying out and fighting against the medicine.

“My love, please,” Nikita cried and held her head still, forcing her jaw open until she had drunk all of it.

“Done!” Yuuri called, returning to Mila’s side to assist her.

“It’s coming out,” the midwife said through gritted teeth. “Get a bowl for me, will you.”

Yuuri did as he was told, and then, he could do nothing but sit there and watch as Mila fought for Yelena’s life, the woman’s screams echoing in the hut. There was blood, so much blood, staining not only Mila’s hands but also the floor, soaking through the furs beneath them. But the worst of it was the smell, the smell of old blood, metallic and rotten.

And then, with a final pull, another gush of blood streamed over Mila’s hands and onto the floor, and Yelena’s screams died down.

Yuuri forced himself to look.

Mila threw a cloth over the bowl and pushed it aside. “Yuuri, my herb bag, please.”

Yuuri moved not because he wanted to, but because he was unable to do more than just that, following Mila’s orders. Mila grabbed the bag, throwing a handful of various herbs into a bowl and grinding them into a smooth paste. Then, she soaked a piece of soft cotton like the ones they used for their bleeding days in the paste and reached between Yelena’s legs again.

“I’m sealing her womb,” she murmured. “The bleeding should stop. The rest lies in the hands of the Holy Mother.”

And just like that, it was over, all things that a midwife could do now done. With Nikita’s help, they removed Yelena from the floor, carrying her back to the bed, undressing and washing her. Her shift they tossed into the flames.

“Mila,” Lilia said softly, gesturing at the bowl they had all avoided looking at.

Mila took a moment to take a deep breath, then picked up the bowl and lifted the cloth covering it. After a few seconds of studying its content, she looked at Lilia and Yuuri.

“It has been dead inside her for too long,” she stated. “Poisoning her from the inside.”

Yuuri stared at the midwife in shock.

Lilia nodded. “I will carry it to the burial fields,” she said, taking the bowl from Mila.

“Thank you,” Mila murmured, letting out a heavy sigh as she washed her hands in one of the buckets and wrapped up her bag, her shoulders only relaxing slightly as Lilia left, the door falling shut behind her.

“Are you okay?” Mila asked Yuuri, touching his arm.

Yuuri managed a small nod. “I… I think so.”

“You have witnessed something horrible. It is normal to be distraught,” she told him quietly. “Go to Viktor and Yuri, yes? Tell them they can now see their mother.”

Yuuri nodded. “What about you?”

Mila’s eyes narrowed. “I still have a few words to say.”

She turned around, her eyes fixed on the man kneeling beside Yelena.

“I told you to stay away from Yelena,” Mila said, approaching Nikita slowly, and Yuuri was sure that he had never seen the midwife so furious. “I told you that she must never become pregnant again. I told you she could die! Couldn’t you keep it back for the sake of your wife?!”

She was towering above Nikita now, unafraid of the confrontation, not caring that he was the clean leader. “If she dies, it will be your fault,” Mila hissed. “Your fault alone.”

And with that, she turned on the heel and marched out of the house.

Yuuri stood there frozen for a moment, staring after Mila before his feet finally obeyed him again. He went outside, the cold air hitting his face as he looked around to find his husband.

Yakov stood aside with his nephews, holding them in a tight embrace as if they were children still, speaking gentle words of encouragement. At the sight of Yuuri, he let go of them again, nudging them to turn around.

Never before had Yuuri seen his husband so miserable.

“You can see her,” he said softly.

Yuri freed himself from his uncle’s grasp and rushed inside, calling for his mother before he had even entered the house.

Viktor merely managed to nod, his eyes flickering at the hut and then back to Yuuri in an unspoken question.

“She… dead baby,” Yuuri said, not knowing the proper words. “She is ill now.”

Yakov cursed under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Dead baby,” Viktor repeated faintly. “She… she was pregnant?”

Yuuri stepped closer and pulled Viktor into his arms. “I’m sorry.” He pressed a gentle kiss to Viktor’s cheek. “You see her now?” He suggested softly, taking his husband’s hand.

All that Viktor could do was nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	12. Hear its whispering, there again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This bitch is backkkkk.
> 
> I know, this chapter is not so long, but it's all I can manage these days.

Viktor did not have many memories of his childhood. He had tried to suppress them as best as he could, particularly the days he had spent with his mother in slavery. Most of the time, he was able to sleep well, and no memories haunted him when he was the most vulnerable. However, there were memories that he had never been able to push aside, memories that were always present in his mind. One of them was the sight of his mother, her lips blue and her body lifeless beside him in the wooden cage on the back of a cart.

His mother’s lips were not blue now, but she looked as good as dead.

Yuri knelt beside their mother, his eyes too young to bear such a sight, but no one had the heart to move him. Yuuri knelt beside him, an arm around his shoulder and speaking to him in a low voice, in the few Russian words of comfort that he knew.

Viktor looked at his father. The man looked pale in the light of the fire, paler than he had ever seen him. It was not the first time his mother had lost a child, and not the first time she had been ill. Each time, his father had stayed at her side, concerned, but stable. The man he saw now was anything but that. It was as if only now, his father had realised that not even he was protected from the wrath of the gods, and that the light of his life could be taken from him, too, at any second.

Viktor wanted to pity him, but couldn’t.

It was all his father’s fault.

None but Nikita’s.

Lilia returned at some point, her hand reassuring on Viktor’s shoulder as she knelt beside him at his mother’s bed. She took Yelena’s hand, feeling her pulse and then touching her forehead. Viktor knew little about women’s bodies, or of healing, but even he knew that a fever was dangerous. People had died of less. His mother’s body was hot and cold at the same time, fighting for survival, and neither of them could do anything about it.

After a while, Mila returned, and only as she opened the door Viktor saw that the sun was rising again.

Had they been sitting at his mother’s side for so many hours already?

She exchanged a few words with Yuuri in Japanese, words that no one else but them understood, and Viktor watched his mate nod in response.

Then, she turned to Nikita. “I have to assist a birth,” she said. “Yuuri will watch over your wife in my stead. Do what he says.”

Any other day, Nikita’s face would have surely soured at that. But he merely nodded at Mila’s words, as if she were not actually there, unable to look away from his wife.

Mila then looked at Viktor and Yuri, eyeing the brothers thoroughly. “You should go to sleep,” she said, her voice softer this time.

Viktor shook his head. “I can’t leave Yuuri alone.”

“You can, but you don’t want to,” Mila stated, but it was not meant as criticism. “But Yuri should go. Sleep at Yakov’s.”

Yuri, who had been sitting close to his mother all this time, had drifted off to sleep at some point, his head resting beside Yelena’s hand.

“He’s still a child,” Mila reminded Viktor softly, knowing that arguing with Nikita about it in his current state would be useless. “He should not be here. Not when the gods…” She trailed off, knowing better than to say what everyone thought. The gods were fighting for Yelena’s soul, and only one of them would get it.

“Yakov,” Viktor said quietly, looking at his uncle.

Yakov nodded.

With a carefulness that one would not expect of him, he lifted the sleeping boy into his arms and carried him outside, away from the place of tragedy. Mila was right, and everyone knew it. Yuri was still a child, and was not meant to see such horrors.

“Viktor.” Yuuri’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and he found his mate sitting beside him, taking his hand. His eyes were tired, but attentive, and so full of worry for him. “Sleep?”

Viktor shook his head. “I can’t leave you,” he said.

Yuuri frowned. “Sleep here,” he said, gesturing at the mats by the fire. With a few furs, one could easily sleep there, and Viktor would not have to leave his mother’s and mate’s side.

“Get some sleep, Vitya,” Lilia said softly. “We will watch over her. I will wake you if anything changes.”

Viktor wanted to argue, but his mate had already begun making a bed for him, collecting furs and blankets from around the house.

He couldn’t find it in him to tell Yuuri no.

And although he told himself only to rest his eyes for a while, he had drifted off to sleep within minutes.

Yuuri stayed awake, sitting beside the fire, a hand in his husband’s hair.

It was not the first time he was watching over someone that was close to death, having helped his mother in her duties during his childhood days, but none of these people had been a relative. By marriage, Yelena was now his second mother, and losing her would not only destroy him, but also Victor. And Yuri, and Nikita, and most likely the entire village.

And yet, there was nothing that Yuuri could do.

He joined Viktor a while later, trying to get some rest whilst trying to keep one eye open, in case anything changed. But soon enough, he had fallen asleep as well. When he woke again, it was only a few hours later, most likely around noon. Yuuri had long lost any feeling for time. The moment he opened his eyes he sat up, alarmed, immediately searching the room for his mother-in-law. There she was, still lying in bed, pearls of sweat on her forehead. Nikita sat beside her, holding her hand, even now.

Yuuri immediately rose from the mat and climbed over the sleeping Viktor to get to Yelena. He sank down to his knees beside her, taking her other hand and feeling her pulse. It was faint, but it was there, and that was all that mattered.

He let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you.”

It was the first time that Nikita had spoken to him directly, ever since Yuuri had told him off after Viktor’s beating. He looked up, finding the clan leader looking at him. The shadows under his eyes were large, but in his gaze was still the strength of the man that Yuuri had first gotten to know.

“I know she will be fine,” Nikita said, Yuuri’s mother tongue almost natural to him, although he ever hardly spoke it these days. He stroked the back of Yelena’s hand with his thumb, the gesture so incredibly tender that it confirmed Yuuri’s suspicion that Nikita, despite his behaviour, was actually in love with his wife. “She always speaks highly of you. She says you are a good mate to our son. I never doubted that. But I was not sure if you would fit in here. In our clan.”

Yuuri was not sure what to make of this, why Nikita spoke to him about that _now_, of all possible times, when there were clearly other things to worry about.

“I still think that you are a good fit for my son,” Nikita continued, looking down at his sleeping wife again. “But you must not forget that things are different here. Nonetheless…” He took a deep breath. “My wife’s life was in your hands, and you did everything you could to help her. That honours you. And for that you have my gratitude.”

Yuuri looked down at Yelena’s hand, her fingers intertwining with Nikita’s in her sleep. That was a good sign. She was reaching out for life.

“I would always act this way,” Yuuri murmured. “Regardless of the person whose life lies in my hands.” He rose from the wooden floor and grabbed the bucket that stood beside the bed, leaving the hut to get fresh water from the stream.

People were looking at him as he walked past them, all of them aware of what had happened the night before. Yuuri could see the questions in their faces but no one stopped him. In the distance, he could see Mila’s red hair, cleaning the wound of a little girl that had an open knee. They nodded at each other in passing, neither of them having the time for longer discussions. All they could do now was to wait for Yelena to wake up.

Or to die, and her soul to be carried away by the gods.

Although Yuuri had slept very little, he did not feel tired. The wind, however, reminded him that his body was weak, sending the particular shivers down his spine that one only gets when one is exhausted. But Yuuri kept going, heading to the river and kneeling down in the grass.

And then, he sat there, and allowed himself to cry in silence.

He wanted to go home.

He loved Viktor, and Mila, and Yelena, and Yuri. He could live with Nikita.

But he wanted his mother, and his father, and his sister.

It was all too much.

He could not be the strong, confident mate that Viktor deserved, not under such circumstances when a goddess placed a burden on their shoulders. How could he go on with such knowledge, that they were only living on borrowed time, and that sooner or later, they would have to join a fight whose nature they did not even know? How could they follow the goddess’ advice and simply _live_, when life itself was what made his existence so unbearable?

An arm was put around him, and Yuuri knew it was Viktor before he even looked at him, before he buried his face in his husband’s shoulder.

He was not alone.

He would never be alone.

Neither here, nor there, not in this life nor in the next.

Viktor would always be with him. He would always be at his side.

“Not feel good?” Viktor asked quietly in his very basic Japanese, and the gesture alone made Yuuri almost tear up again.

He pulled back and shook his head. “Too much.”

One look at Viktor was enough for Yuuri to know that his husband understood.

“Too much, yes.” Viktor agreed and kissed Yuuri’s hair before he settled beside him on the grass and pulled him against his chest. Then, before Yuuri knew what Viktor was doing, he reached out and dipped his hand into the cold stream, scooping up some water and bringing it to Yuuri’s face.

“Viktor, wha—” Yuuri sneezed as the cold water hit him in the face, but Viktor said nothing as he rubbed his hand all over Yuuri’s face, as if determined to reach even the most hidden of places there. Just as Yuuri thought Viktor was done with whatever it was he was doing, the next load of water was poured from Viktor’s hand into his face, and only then Yuuri realised that his husband was probably trying to wash him. Viktor’s fingers rubbed over his eyes, ran up to his forehead and into his hair, wiping away any remains of sleep and the dust of the nights from Yuuri’s face. If this was some sort of grooming, Yuuri thought, then Viktor definitely needed more practice. But the gesture alone was incredibly sweet, and Yuuri had to admit that he felt better now, somewhat refreshed.

He gave Viktor a thankful smile, and his husband kissed him on the lips.

“Let’s go back,” Viktor said. “Hungry?”

Yuuri nodded and got to his feet again, his hand slipping into Viktor’s as they walked back to the village together, their feelings somewhat settled. It was no good, Yuuri thought, to allow himself to worry too much. Nothing lay in their hands anyway. All they could do, truly do, was to wait, and make the best of the time the goddess had granted them together.

Outside Nikita’s hut, Yuri sat on a bucket he had flipped over, nibbling on a piece of bread. Beside him stood Yakov, his expression stern but somewhat softer than usual.

“She’s been awake for a minute or two,” he said to Viktor before turning to Yuuri. “No fever.”

Both of them let out a sigh of relief, and Yuuri hugged his husband tightly, sending thankful prayers to the gods in his mind.

Just then, Lilia stepped out of Nikita’s hut, greeting them with a nod. “She sleeps again. Good work, Yuuri.”

Yuuri murmured a small thank you, still in Viktor’s arms, not ashamed of showing affection in public.

“Let’s go home,” Viktor said, the relief clear in his voice. “And sleep.”

And Yuuri followed him, never letting go of his hand.

* * *

Viktor took over Yuuri’s responsibilities at home.

No matter how much Yuuri protested that he was fine and could do the cooking on his own, Viktor would not have any of it. And so, Yuuri had no choice but to sit by the fire and rest whilst his husband moved around in their small home and prepared a simple meal for them. He had learnt to cook from Yelena, and had been taught that by cooking for his mate he would prove his devotion. He truly could not think of a better time to show his adoration for Yuuri than right now, with Yuuri having saved the life of the woman that had brought him up.

For that alone, Viktor would forever be grateful to him.

The meal he prepared for them was simple, porridge with pieces of dried fruit. It was not much, but it was enough for them after a night like this, and would give them back their strength. And strength they both desperately needed.

His own bowl in hand, Viktor sat down beside Yuuri and began to eat, thinking back to the events of the last night and what had come of it. It was not the first time he had seen his mother in a miserable state. Not the first time she had miscarried. But it had never been so bad, so dangerous, so life-threatening. If Mila, or Lilia, or Yuuri had not been around, Viktor was sure she would not have made it.

And all of it was his father’s fault.

His father, who could not keep his hands off his wife, who could not control himself for the sake of her wellbeing. For the sake of her life. His father, who had wanted him to marry Yuuri, and who now couldn’t accept him, to whom he now owed Yelena’s life.

Yakov’s words came back to Viktor just then, and a cold shiver ran down his spine at the memory.

_“If I were you, I would keep an eye on Yuuri. And keep him away from your father.”_

_“Why? My father wants only the best for us.”_

_“No, he does not.”_

Although Viktor still did not know what his uncle had meant by saying that, he began to see through the façade. And then, there was the prophecy that the goddess of the moon had shown them, the vision of his mother, dancing with a man that was not his father. Both of them had looked so happy.

But his mother had never spoken about the people of her past, never of other men, of suitors before she had married his father.

Perhaps she did not want to talk about it, Viktor thought. Perhaps she did not remember, or chose not to. Not after the things she had lived through, and had barely survived.

A cough to his left pulled Viktor out of his thoughts, and he looked up. Yuuri was looking down at the bowl in his hands, studying it cautiously and pushing around the pieces of fruit.

“Yuuri?” Viktor asked softly. “Is everything alright?”

Yuuri nodded, still frowning and looking at the food as if he were not quite sure what to think of it.

“Taste is…” He began, searching for the right words. “… good but… not good?” He looked at Viktor, who began to equally frown in confusion.

“Really?” He scooped up some of Yuuri’s portion with his spoon and tried it, but could not find anything odd about the taste. “It’s good to me. Do you want mine?” He offered Yuuri his bowl, but Yuuri smiled and shook his head. “Are you sure? I can make you something else!” Viktor offered, but Yuuri just shook his head and placed his hand on Viktor’s arm.

“It is good,” he assured him. “I want to eat it.”

Yuuri took his spoon again and continued to eat, but Viktor could not shake off the feeling that his mate was only eating it for his sake. But then again, if there was one thing that Viktor had learnt in their short marriage, then it was the fact that his Yuuri was incredibly stubborn sometimes.

They finished their meal and Yuuri went to change his clothes, putting on a jacket that he had brought with him from home and which Viktor found suited him very well.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said when Yuuri had gotten dressed again and all bowl had been cleaned and put away. “I want to take you to a special place in the forest, if you feel up to it.”

Yuuri looked at him in his usual confusion, most likely only understanding the words “I” and “forest”, but he nodded and went to put on a pair of shoes whilst Viktor waited for him at the door. Once he was ready, Viktor took his hand, and they left the hut together.

They took the path that did not lead through the village but around it, neither of them in the mood for being stopped for questions. Taking the longer path meant they would be left alone, in peace and quiet, and that was just what they needed, Viktor thought as they approached the forest together. He had taken this path many times before, had been to this special place alone and with others, but never with Yuuri, who was probably not even aware of its existence. But Yuuri trusted him, and held onto him as they walked together. Yuuri’s hand was warm in his, like the day they had been married, and Viktor felt his love and reassurance flow through Yuuri’s skin into his body, binding him together.

The gods truly had given him a rare mate, he thought as he lifted Yuuri over a large tree stump, and briefly pulled him into his arms for a playful kiss. But only Yuuri, he was sure, would ever be good enough for him.

No one else could ever be like him.

The forest was slowly coming back to life these days with winter leaving and spring approaching. Even the birds had begun to return, which was the safest sign of changing seasons. And with spring, and the warmer months, many things would come. Festivities, hunts, markets, clan gatherings. Not long now, and they would meet Yuuri’s family again.

Viktor was sure Yuuri was already looking forward to that.

The forest cleared before them to reveal a small hill. In the summer months, it was always covered in the most beautiful flowers, and made the perfect place for contemplation in solitude. At the moment, it only had the colour of dark, wet grass, and the ground was slippery, but it did nothing to change the magic of this place.

Yuuri looked up at Viktor curiously, as if to ask what this place was.

“Come,” Viktor said and began to lead Yuuri up the hill.

The ground was slippery and muddy and they had to watch their steps, but together, they managed to climb up the hill without falling, reaching the top. There, in the centre of the meadow, stood an altar to honour the gods, and surrounding it were flat stones, arranged in a wide circle around the altar, leaving only a small path between them to allow any visitor to approach the altar.

It was just before the altar where they stopped, and Viktor bowed to the gods, and so did Yuuri, before they turned towards each other.

“These are the burial grounds of my clan,” Viktor said softly, hoping that his mate would understand. “My ancestors are buried here. And my siblings.”

Yuuri blinked, and Viktor saw realisation forming in his mate’s eyes at these words.

Viktor took his hand and led him to the stones on the left, all of them painted beautifully, depicting the stars, or the moon, or the sun, or flowers. There, Viktor stopped.

“My mother painted all these stones for the children she lost,” he explained quietly and gestured at one with a moon on it. “This one here was my sister. She only lived for four days. And here, this is one of my brothers. He was stillborn. After that, she had these two.” He gestured at stones with flowers on them and sighed. “Then came Yura, and thankfully, he survived. After him, she had another girl, stillborn, too.” He walked over to the last stone, one that rested on top of a small pile of fresh earth. “And here is the one she lost last night,” he murmured.

Viktor sank down to his knees and adjusted the stone just a bit, making sure it sat properly on the small grave. The smallest graves were the saddest. Everyone knew that.

And their family had so many.

Yuuri sank to his knees beside him, putting an arm around Viktor wordlessly. They did not need words, no. They never did. But there were things Viktor wanted to say, even if Yuuri did not understand them all.

“I wanted to show you this place because it means a lot to me,” Viktor said, reaching for Yuuri’s hand and intertwining their fingers. “I could not protect by siblings, or my mother. But I can protect you. And I will, Yuuri. Always.”

He brought Yuuri’s hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles, and Yuuri wound his arms around him in a loving embrace.

That way, they knelt before the altar and by the graves of the brothers and sisters Viktor had never met, in silent prayer.

They did not long for how long, or if they were being watched, may it be humans or gods, but they did not care. It was warm in their embrace, soothing, reassuring, and more they did not need. Neither of them knew how to carry the burden they had been given, the burden of knowledge, but they knew they had no choice but to make the best of it.

They had to.

“Home,” Yuuri whispered into Viktor’s ear, and they rose together.

On the way back, Viktor prayed that Yuuri would never have to paint a stone for a child of their own.

He would not allow such a tragedy to happen to them.

* * *

Yelena was pale, and her cheeks hollow and her eyes tired, but she was alive.

Yuri openly wept in her arms as Yuuri and Viktor came to see her the next day, his mother-in-law holding her son and whispering soothingly to him. In any other situation, Nikita would have surely disciplined his son for showing such unmanly emotions, but it seemed that even the great northern warrior deemed almost losing one’s mother as an appropriate reason for tears. Upon seeing Viktor, Yelena smiled and held out her hand, and Viktor sank to his knees beside her bed and joined the embrace.

“Yuuri?” Yelena said softly, and it took him a moment to understand that she wanted him to come closer, too. The moment he sat down beside his husband, Yelena embraced him just like she embraced her sons, and kissed them all. “I saw you in my dreams,” she said in Russian. “All my sons.”

“Mama,” Viktor said, his voice strangely hoarse as he pulled away just enough to look at his mother. “Mama, how are you feeling?”

“I am tired,” she admitted and cupped Viktor’s cheek. “But I will heal. The gods have granted me another life. We must thank them for that.”

“I will make a sacrifice, Mama,” Yuri promised her and wiped away his tears with the sleeve of his shirt. “I will sacrifice my bow and my spear.”

“Don’t you sacrifice that for me, young man,” Yelena said and ran a hand through his blonde hair. “Hunt with them and sacrifice that to the gods. They would not rejoice in making you unarmed.”

“We will make a big sacrifice,” Viktor promised, exchanging a look with his younger brother. “We must thank the gods for this most generous of gifts.”

Yelena smiled. “They do indeed give us most generous gifts,” she said and looked at Yuuri, who understood very little of what was being said. But he simply smiled, glad that she was alive and well.

“We should hunt, then,” Nikita said from where he sat on the other end of the bed, a hand on his wife’s leg. “And prepare the sacrifice before sunset.” That was how it had always been done; a sacrifice prepared for the gods, given to them at sunset in a sacred ceremony. But by Nikita’s voice alone it was evident that he was hesitant of leaving her side already.

“Yuuri will stay with me,” Yelena said, knowing her husband well. “Right, Yuuri? You stay with me?” She asked in Japanese, and Yuuri immediately nodded. “They all hunt for gods. We stay together, here. Yes?”

Yuuri exchanged a look with Viktor, who leant over and gave him a kiss on the forehead before pulling his brother up with him. Together, they picked the weapons they would need for this hunt, weapons they would first cleanse in the river before going into the woods. Nikita was the last one to leave the hut, returning to the bed once more to give Yelena a kiss – upon which Yuuri respectfully moved aside and busied himself with the fire – before leaving together with his sons.

Yuuri filled a bowl with the soup that was cooking in the pot over the fire and brought it to Yelena to sip from whenever she felt like it. The sooner she regained her strength, the better, but everyone knew it would take her several weeks to fully recover.

If she ever fully recovered at all.

But Yelena smiled at him as she took the bowl from him and took a small sip before setting it aside and patting the furs. “Gods spoke to me when I sleep,” she told him, and Yuuri’s eyes widened. He had heard of such instances, of course, for many people said that the gods were with them during the battle between life and death. “Goddess of the Moon, and God of the Sun. Both are beautiful, but I cannot see face anymore. Like the statue, you know?” She said, gesturing at the small altar on the other side of the hut where they kept the figurines of the gods, just like the ones that Viktor had recently put up. “Face is holy. But they speak to me, and they speak good things.” She took Yuuri’s hand into her own, looking down as she intertwined their fingers. “I see my baby. They show me his face. He is small, and the goddess tell me that he can not become warrior with us. But that he will be warrior with them.” She sighed, and Yuuri’s heart broke anew. “But gods are like this. They send soul, and take soul. They say that he has no warrior soul for here. And he is warrior with them now. I am happy for that.”

She looked up, and although her smile was a sad one, Yuuri could see the optimism in her eyes. Not many women got to know what happened to the souls of the children they lost in the womb, and most of them feared that their children’s souls might hence be forever lost.

But Yelena had the promise that her son would live, in a different realm, and be a warrior of the gods.

That was more than most women could ever hope for.

“But goddess tell me I have second little soul to hold soon,” Yelena said then, and squeezed Yuuri’s hand, and her eyes began to shine. “That I will be grandmother.”

Yuuri stared at her for a moment before withdrawing his hand and touching his belly, out of sheer instinct.

Could it be that the gods had decided to grant him his wish? That they would give him what he desired the most?

Yelena chuckled and took his hands again. “Don’t be scared,” she whispered, her eyes still shining in excitement and sheer happiness. “You feel little soul, yes?”

Yuuri swallowed thickly. Yes, he had felt a little ill in the mornings, and his food had begun to taste strange, too. But he had blamed the stress, the worries, his anxiety for it. He had not even considered the possibility of a blessing.

But then again, the goddess had promised to give them both what they desired the most.

Ever since the cave in the woods, Yuuri had felt strangely at peace with himself.

As if something deep inside him had clicked into place.

“I have not spoken to Mila yet,” Yuuri said quietly. “And also not to Viktor.”

Yelena nodded understandingly. “Men don’t see things,” she said, as if it were a good circumstance. “But you are blessed one. Sacred one. You feel little soul.”

“But Viktor…” Yuuri did not even want to imagine how his husband would react so shortly after witnessing what pregnancy could do. How badly it could end. “Viktor will be so scared,” he whispered, not daring to look at his mother-in-law. “I don’t want him to be scared. He wakes up at night often enough.”

Yelena said nothing to that for a while, her thumbs gently caressing the back of Yuuri’s hands, just the way his mother would have done, had she been there to comfort him.

“When I look at Viktor,” she said eventually, “I see little boy. Scared, big eyes looking at me. But he look at you, and then I see a man, proud and strong, and in love. He forget his fear when he has you. He is strong. Stronger than fear. Trust me.”

That Viktor was strong Yuuri had never doubted. Many times he had comforted Yuuri despite being hardly able to bear the sight of his upset mate, had tried to hide his own sorrows for Yuuri’s sake. And he had opened up to him, had showed his strength by giving Yuuri his trust.

But this was something entirely different.

“And you are not alone,” Yelena added. “Here, I am your mother. I guide you. And I know that little soul will live. I see it. The light of the little soul is very bright. Very strong. Just like you and Vitya.”

Yuuri couldn’t help but smile a little at that, and a tear rolled down his cheek before he could stop it. If the gods truly had sent them a child, if they truly had deemed him worthy to carry the fruit of his union with Viktor, then this was not the time for sorrow, but for joy.

“And this is golden moment,” Yelena said, sitting up a little more as the door swung open and Mila came in with her things. “Men out of the house. Only us. Best time.”

“Best time indeed,” Mila agreed, although she had only heard the last statement. “But the best time for what?”

Yelena knowingly glanced at Yuuri.

Mila raised an eyebrow, looking at the deeply embarrassed Yuuri for a moment before she said: “I fucking knew it.”

Yelena was Mila’s first patient that morning, her skilled hands examining the woman with a concentrated frown on her face, all while letting out her anger about men and their desire. “I swear by all that it is holy, if you had died I would have sent Nikita right after you,” Mila muttered while she worked. “Can’t they keep their fucking dick inside their fucking pants when their wives are at fucking risk of dying? I’d love to chop his dick off, that I can tell you…”

Yelena only chuckled, holding still as Mila examined her stomach. “It is always two, you know.”

“Oh, don’t get me started, I’m mad at you, too,” Mila huffed. “You should have had him come anywhere but not in your womb, woman. How many times did I tell you that? I was scared, Yelena. I didn’t want to lose you over that.”

Yelena then said something in Russian, her words soft and quiet, and Yuuri had no idea what she was saying – but it made Mila pause, and the women looked at each other in a way that spoke of a long friendship, despite the age gap between them.

Mila looked down with a sigh. “Make sure you only sleep with him right before and right after you bleed,” she muttered and pulled down Yelena’s shift again. “Take some of the herbs if you still have any pain or if you can’t sleep.”

She rose from the bed and went to wash her hands before turning to Yuuri. “So. Shall we?”

* * *

The flames of the sacrifice were bright against the light of the sunset, bathing the village in its warmth. It was a grand sacrifice, much bigger than what they usually brought before the gods, but it fit the occasion. They had something big to thank for, and that demanded an equally big sacrifice.

Viktor had been exhausted upon their return to the village, but happy, and he had smiled at the sight of Yuuri coming out of his mother’s hut. Together with the help of the others, they had erected the shrine for the sacrifice, and the villagers had added small bits and pieces as their own sacrifice. The flames ate it all away, taking the sacrifice to the goddess of the moon, who would share it with the god of the sun. Viktor would make sure to pray to her at home, at their little altar, and to keep doing so every single day and night.

She was watching, and she was protecting them.

Yuuri stood close to him, Viktor’s arm around his middle as they watched the flames burn what they had hunted, Lilia singing a song of prayer together with the other women. Yelena was surely quietly humming along, at home in her own bed. Yuuri did not know their songs of prayer and sacrifice, otherwise he would have sung with them. Viktor was silent, for men did not sing in prayer, and women and sacred ones had the better connection to the gods anyway. They did not have to stay until the very end, and when he caught Yuuri yawning, he gave his mate’s hip a gentle squeeze, that alone being enough to communicate with him.

They went home, never letting go of each other, feeling the warmth of the flames against their backs.

The moment they stepped into their own home and closed the door, Viktor realised how tired he was.

“Let us go to bed,” he said to Yuuri, nodding at their nest in the alcove. “I can barely keep my eyes open.”

Yuuri nodded and let go of him, both of them beginning their nightly routine of washing their faces and changing into their shifts. Viktor was the first to climb into their bed, his head hitting the furs and he sighed in relief. Yuuri joined him a moment later, slipping under the large white fur and moving closer to Viktor, his hand gently tapping his chest.

“Vitya?”

Viktor opened his eyes, only to find Yuuri looking at him in a way that demanded attention. “What is it, my love?” He asked and sat up a little to show that he was listening. “Are you not tired?”

The language was rudimentary enough for Yuuri to understand, for he shook his head and said: “I want sleep, but…” He hesitated and sat up properly, clasping his hands on his lap.

Viktor’s confusion only grew.

“Yuuri, what’s wrong?” He asked, reaching out to touch his mate’s arm. “Are you not feeling well? Do you need me to—”

“Vitya,” Yuuri interrupted him softly, and Viktor fell silent again, not sure what his mate wanted. He did not look ill, although he was a little paler than usual – but then again, they were both exhausted and tired and overworked, and simply needed to sleep, right?

Then, with outmost care, did Yuuri take his hand and brought it to his belly, looking at Viktor expectantly.

“I have baby,” he said softly, but Viktor knew it before Yuuri could even say it, his eyes widening in both shock and surprise. But as he tried to speak, he realised he was stunned into silence, and could not do anything but stare.

Only for a moment did fear wash over him, only to be replaced with the strongest of emotions that he had never felt before.

Something beautiful was happening, but Viktor was only a man, and could not comprehend any of it. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out, leaving no other choice but to pull Yuuri into his arms, to hold him and kiss him, and speak the language of their love.

He felt Yuuri smile as they kissed, and as they broke apart, Yuuri was crying. “Let’s not be scared,” he said, as if Russian had been his mother tongue all along.

That night, despite everything, Viktor was the most hopeful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How have you been?? How has life been treating you in these difficult times?


	13. One Step Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for not updating this story sooner, but you know... this year is an utter trainwreck.  
I was not sure whether to add certain things to this chapter, but I decided to make a cut. This chapter is mainly preparation, but I hope you like it nonetheless.

Viktor could not remember the last time he had been at peace with his life. Now he was, and he was almost bursting with pride with Yuuri at his side.

Over the course of little more than a year, his life had changed completely. He had become a man in the eyes of the gods and in the eyes of his clan. He had gotten married. He had fallen in love. He had witnessed the miracle of faith, had been allowed to see the face of the goddess of the moon.

All of this, all of these experiences had made Viktor the man he was today. No longer would he be regarded as Nikita’s son only, as merely the offspring of a great war hero. To the world, he was a man in his own right now, with a reputation, a name, and a mate that carried his child.

Viktor could not deny that especially the latter made him particularly proud.

After all, he was a descendant of the wolves that carried themselves with pride, and there was no greater proof of masculinity than a pregnant mate.

And Yuuri was simply breathtaking.

At first, they had stayed quiet about the pregnancy, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention to themselves, just the way it was done in the south – and Viktor respected that. He could not deny that he felt the urge to shout it out to the world that he had a pregnant mate at home, and that yes, _he_ was the one responsible for such a very happy circumstance.

But then, Yuuri had begun to struggle with his clothes, and had been forced to change into something that would fit his slowly growing belly.

The moment he had stepped out of the hut in a long gown, hand-made by Yelena and ornamented with beautiful embroidery and a leather belt around his middle to accentuate the waist, people had known.

Viktor could not stop smiling.

Nonetheless did Yuuri’s pregnancy worry him, for it was something he had never been part of before. All of his peers had married before him and already had children with their mates, none of them surprised at the miracle of childbirth anymore. But for Viktor, it was the very first time that a mate of his was carrying his child, and he was determined to do everything right.

Sitting by the fire and nervously wringing his hands, however, he realised that there was very little he could actually do. Especially when Mila was with them, sitting on the edge of their nest and examining Yuuri. They were speaking with each other in Japanese, and Viktor could not understand a thing, but at least they sounded as if they were both in good spirits.

“Viktor?”

Viktor immediately looked up as Yuuri called his name, getting up to see what he needed. Mila had just pulled down Yuuri’s gown again to cover him, and she looked him up and down with a smile on her face that Viktor did not like very much.

“Is everything alright?” Viktor asked her.

Mila kept grinning. “Oh, I just thought that you are going to like this. All men do.”

“What is this about?” Viktor frowned and exchanged a look with Yuuri, who, much to his surprise, was blushing. “Are you able to tell whether the baby is—”

“No,” Mila said and rolled her eyes. “Of course, that is what all men want. They only want to know if they get an heir or ‘just’ a girl.”

“Viktor is good,” Yuuri interrupted her. He had gotten much better at understanding and speaking Russian, even if he still struggled at times. “Viktor likes both boy and girl.”

“Precisely,” Viktor said and took his mate’s hand gently, bringing it to his lips and looking him lovingly in the eye.

Mila groaned. “Could you wait until I’ve left, at least?” She shook her head in faked disgust. “But that is what I wanted to talk to you about. How often did you do it before Yuuri was pregnant? Don’t look at me like that, Viktor, I’m a midwife. It’s my job to ask you that.”

Viktor, who had opened his mouth in protest at such a question, closed it again. Yuuri gently squeezed his hand.

“I think, every night,” he said while Viktor was still trying to find an elegant way of putting it.

“And now?” Mila asked, but Viktor could tell she already knew the answer.

“We were trying to be careful,” he said. “We have never experienced something like this. And Yuuri was not feeling too well very often.”

“But he is now,” Mila said, gently patting Yuuri’s leg. “Regular mating and pleasure are essential for a good pregnancy. As long as you do not overdo it, there is no reason to remain celibate any longer.”

She rose and picked up her bag, throwing it over her shoulder. “Other than that, the baby is developing nicely. It will be born in the warmest month. A very good sign. Anyway, Lilia is waiting for me.”

With that, she walked out of their hut, not waiting for either of them to say goodbye.

For a moment, Viktor and Yuuri merely looked at each other, unable to say a word.

And then, Yuuri began to giggle, and Viktor grinned as he was pulled into their nest by his mate and crawled on top of him.

“Oh, I like this very much,” Viktor hummed and caught Yuuri’s lips in a hungry kiss. And oh, Yuuri responded so wonderfully, immediately wrapping his arms around Viktor’s neck and pulling him down.

“I miss you,” Yuuri whispered against Viktor’s lips, playing with the hair in his husband’s neck. “I miss touching you.”

“And I missed touching you,” Viktor said softly, reaching up to cup Yuuri’s cheek. He was sure that if they had been sleeping with each other like usual, they would not have spent their nights teaching each other – Viktor teaching Yuuri Russian, and Yuuri teaching Viktor how to write. And now, Yuuri was able to have small conversations with him.

“You have time for me now?” Yuuri asked, a mischievous smile appearing on his lips. “Or do you go to your father?”

“Yuuri,” Viktor said solemnly. “I will _always_ have time for you.”

Yuuri smiled happily and pulled him into another kiss that they did not break this time. Instead, they kept searching each other’s lips, Yuuri undressing Viktor swiftly and Viktor pushing up Yuuri’s shift to settle between his legs.

“Bozhe moy,” Viktor breathed between kisses. “Yuuri, you are driving mad…”

Yuuri let out a shaky breath, about to reply as someone starting knocking on their door rather firmly, impossible to ignore, followed by a loud “Viktor!”

Viktor groaned in utter frustration, burying his face in Yuuri’s neck. “Not now…”

But the knocking continued, once again followed by a rather annoyed “Viktor! Stop fooling around and get to work!” by Nikita.

Yuuri sighed heavily in resignation, opening his eyes.

“Go,” he whispered, running a hand through Viktor’s hair. “He becomes angry.”

“Let him be angry,” Viktor muttered, lifting his head barely enough to meet Yuuri’s gaze. “I don’t want to join the elders’ circle. The discussions are endless.”

Yuuri smiled sympathetically at him, kissing his forehead. “But you will be leader one day. You have to go. Show your face.”

Another knock, or rather, a banging on the door. “Viktor! Come on now!”

“I’m coming!” Viktor called back in annoyance and sat up slowly, picking up the clothes that Yuuri had thrown out of their nest. Yuuri watched him as he got dressed, leaning against the beam to his left.

Viktor turned to him once he had pulled up his trousers, an apologetic look on his face. “We will continue with this later,” he promised and bent down to kiss him.

“Viktor! Come out at once!”

Viktor sighed.

“No pout there,” Yuuri said and pecked his lips. “Be strong and proud. Be a leader.”

“I’ll try,” Viktor sighed before he turned to leave, marching towards the door, opening it just before his father could bang his fist against it once more.

“Good morning to you too,” he said, quickly closing the door before his father or anyone else could see Yuuri in nothing but his shift.

Nikita scowled at him. “You are late,” he said. “You should have been with us long ago.”

“Now I am here, father,” Viktor gave back as calmly as he could, not in the mood to be shouted at by his father for nothing. “The meeting won’t start without us. And we are not the only ones not there yet. See.” He gestured down the hill to the hut of another elder, who was in a conversation with yet another member of the circle, whilst a third one, who was _actually_ an elderly man, slowly made his way towards the hut in the centre of the village, leaning on a wooden cane.

His father huffed.

“Your mate should not distract you from your duties,” Nikita said as they began to walk down the hill together, the ground still a little slippery beneath their feet due to the Spring rains. It was one of the reasons Yuuri always took the longer path now, the less steep one, to reduce the risk of falling.

“Yuuri is one of my duties,” Viktor replied, “and he would never keep me from other work. In fact, he has duties of his own that he is mindful of. Just yesterday he and Mila successfully delivered Marta of a healthy boy. I have yet to congratulate her husband.”

Nikita let out a small hum. “Do you think it wise to have him assist births in his current state?”

“Why should he not?”

“It might scare him. Childbirth is a painful process that leaves a deep impact, Viktor.”

“You speak of it as if you had been the one giving birth, not your wife.” Yakov had appeared beside Nikita, giving his brother a stern look. “If Yuuri has not been scared away from it so far then it won’t scare him now. That is what I think.” His tone of voice put an end to the discussion, for which Viktor was very grateful. His father huffed but said nothing, and Viktor quickly exchanged a look with his uncle.

“We must discuss important issues today,” Yakov said, changing the subject as they approached the hut. “Including the preparations for the meeting of the clans.”

“The preparations are going well, I think,” Viktor said. “Anatoly and I discussed which of the furs we will take with us to sell. The hawks will most likely be very interested in polar lion fur. We have two of those at the moment. I believe we could trade them for weapons or iron.”

“The hawks produce swords of unparalleled quality,” Nikita remarked as they approached the round hut that was the elders’ circle. “It would be very unwise to choose iron over their swords.”

Nikita entered the hut, his brother and son following wordlessly, both knowing that the conversation had come to an end for now. The other elders were already there, sitting around the fire and talking amongst themselves casually. They were the married men of the village, old and young, men that had gained the approval of the clan leader and of the gods. There were no women amongst them – a fact that had never sat right with Viktor, who thought his mother and aunt far more capable of running the village than some of the men sitting in front of him. Only Yakov knew how he thought, for Viktor had kept his opinion a secret from his father. It had been Yakov’s advise to do so, and Viktor knew better than to tell his father about the plans he had for the future – for the day he would become the leader of their clan.

One day, he had sworn to himself, there would be women in this circle, too.

But for now, he sat down beside his uncle, and kept his mouth shut because he had to.

“Brothers,” Nikita said solemnly, nodding at the present men, “we have important issues to discuss. The meeting of the clans will take place in less than two moons. Furthermore, the dams must be renewed and secured again. We cannot take the risks of our forefathers and neglect them. The gods might send us heavy rain in autumn and unstable dams might lead to a flood. I think many of us remember the last time this happened.”

Some of the older men exchanged a few knowing looks, nodding in earnest. Viktor was too young to remember the last flood, but he knew that it had caused a lot of damage, and had even killed a small child. Back then, the north had still been at war, and Nikita had not been around to supervise any of it. Just one year ago, Viktor would have thought that his father’s concern was genuine, and that he felt actual regret about not having been there for his people.

Nowadays, he was not so sure about that anymore.

“There is enough wood left from repairing the huts to work with,” one of them said. “There is therefore no need to cut down yet another tree.”

Nikita nodded. “Good. We have angered the spirits of the forest far too much already this year.” He exchanged a look with the father of Fabiyan, the poor boy that had lost his leg during the last hunt. The man looked down in regret and shame, and Viktor would have liked to ask aloud if such remarks were actually necessary.

But being the good son, he kept his mouth shut, determined to visit Fabiyan and his family after the meeting.

“Nonetheless,” another chimed in, “we should ask the priestess to invoke the spirits of the water. For a sacrifice. We should not risk their wrath.”

“I agree,” Nikita said, exchanging a brief look with Yakov, who looked as solemn as ever. “We must be grateful that we have had the gods and spirits on our side for so long. Our village, our clan as a whole, has prospered greatly. We must sure it stays that way.”

“Aye,” the elders agreed, and so did Viktor. But unlike them, he knew why the gods were with them, and that none of these men, especially not his father, were to be credited for it.

“We must now speak about an issue of rather sad nature, I’m afraid,” Nikita continued with a sigh. “It has been almost two moons since our brother Vadim took his last breath. Just like his soul now rests in the hands of the gods, we must care for his widow and his children. Our wives have helped Alyona, but the time has come to find a long-term solution.”

“Can she not go back to her clan?” Someone suggested. “Her father should take care of her and the children.”

“Alyona has no father,” Yakov replied. “No family to speak of. Have you forgotten where she came from?”

“Aye…” The man in question murmured, scratching his head. “I forgot.”

“Questionable past or not,” Nikita said firmly, “Alyona is a respectable member of our clan. She has been a loyal and dutiful wife to our brother. Therefore, we have a duty to her, and that is to take care of her.”

“She needs a husband,” the man to Viktor’s left said gruffly, and the other elders nodded in agreement.

“Precisely,” Nikita said. “Or at least a guardian, someone to protect her and the children. Alyona approached me to speak about this matter a few days ago. She is a proud woman, and does not want to live off charity any longer. I am certain she will accept any husband suggested to her. She knows of the importance of a protector. Not for her sake, but because of her children. I have no doubt she would be able to survive on her own. But doing so with two small children is impossible for a woman.”

“Indeed,” one of the older men croaked, and Viktor had to force himself not to roll his eyes, or even let out a sigh. It was as if they all blissfully, willingly ignored the existence of the Crispino clan, a clan consisting of women only.

A clan that they all feared. For a good reason.

“Then who should take her in?” Anatoly, the husband of the woman whose first child Yuuri had helped to deliver, asked.

“Alyona is a young woman,” Nikita said. “She could still bear any man many children.”

The elders nodded to themselves, but none of them spoke up to offer the woman a home. Viktor knew why. Not only were most of them married already, but taking a second wife was a complicated process – a process that involved the clear consent of their current wives. Most of them did not even want to imagine having to start such a conversation with the person that ran their home and gave them children.

“What about Viktor?” Someone suggested, and Viktor froze where he sat.

“No.”

Yakov had spoken up before Viktor or anyone else had the chance to react, and his uncle’s presence, his authority, seemed more present than ever in this moment. Even Nikita was looking at him, a frown on his face, clearly displeased.

“Vitya has a mate at home,” Yakov growled. “A pregnant mate.”

“I am sure Viktor can speak for himself, brother,” Nikita said, his gaze now fixed on Viktor, who then realised two fundamental truths at the exact same time.

He was the son of Nikita.

At the same time, he was the son of Nikita_, and the future leader of the clan_.

His loyalty belonged to his father for as long as he lived, and that meant he had to follow his command, had to do as he was told, whether he liked it or not. He would have to follow his father into battle if he demanded it. If his father decided for him to marry someone else, based on the premise that it was an issue of the clan, he would have to obey.

However, Viktor would be in Nikita’s place one day. The day he died, he would rise to the top of the hierarchy. Until then, he would have to prove himself, his authority, his capability, over and over again. Not only to gain his father’s respect, but also the respect and trust of their people.

Viktor could not allow himself to be a coward.

For a split second, he could see Yuuri before him in his mind. Yuuri, accepting Alyona into their home without question. Yuuri, whose clan did not practise polygamy, but who would swallow his pride, just for Viktor’s sake.

Yuuri, who would forgive him, but whose heart would be broken.

“Well,” Nikita said, reaching for the cup of beer before him. “If that is settled—”

“I’m afraid I must decline,” Viktor said, raising his head.

The words died on Nikita’s tongue, his hand frozen in mid-air, looking at Viktor in a mixture of anger, disgust, and bewilderment.

“As Yakov said, I am married. I have a mate that is expecting our first child. I will not bring unrest into my home, into my marriage, simply because you would like to see Alyona and her children under my roof. The issue of marriage is a private matter, given to us by the gods when the first wolf became a man. No mortal has the right interfere with the bond that others share. Not even a clan leader like you, father.”

For a moment, Viktor was sure that his father would draw his dagger and launch at him for such crass disrespect. At the same time, he had no doubt that his uncle would probably throw himself between them and wrestle the dagger out of his brother’s hands, all while the other elders would call for peace and decency.

But no dagger came, and no one moved.

Instead, Nikita’s eyes bore deep into Viktor’s, who did not turn his head away, and did not avert his gaze like he should. As much as they have looked alike – it was in moments like these when Viktor was reminded of how different he and his father actually were. There was no warmth in Nikita’s grey eyes, no understanding for his son. None of the things Viktor could find in Yakov were part of his father’s character.

“Viktor is quite right,” an older man croaked, nodding more to himself than to the others. “Marriage is sacred. If Viktor does not agree to it himself, then no one else must interfere. Not even a clan leader, Nikita.”

It was clear that Nikita did not like at all being told so, but Viktor knew that his father was wise enough to not cause a scene and question the gods in front of the elders.

“Then someone else must take her in,” Yakov said, ignoring his brother. “Dimka. You are a widower.”

The man called Dimitri sighed heavily. “I am,” he said. “And I have given it a good thought, believe me. I know that my daughter needs a mother.”

“Then why not marry Alyona?” Anatoly asked. “She is a fine woman. Hardworking.”

“Aye,” Nikita said, his voice still strained from the anger he suppressed.

“Speak to her,” Yakov advised the man. “Alyona is a good woman. If I remember correctly, she has taken a liking to your daughter already.”

Dimitri blushed, scratching the back of his head. “My little girl is quite the charmer…”

“And I am sure she will charm her way into Alyona’s heart,” Yakov said, surprisingly gently for a man of his calibre. It was rare that Viktor heard him speak like this, but then again, Yakov rarely showed his emotions. But deep down, Yakov was a good man. A man that cared, and who had always been a father figure to Viktor.

More than his actual father had ever been.

“Good, then.” Nikita cleared his throat. “What else must we discuss today?”

For the rest of the meeting, Viktor tuned out, only pretending to listen as he kept an eye on his father. To an outsider, he probably seemed like an attentive listener, a good son who wanted to learn from his father, but that was far from the truth. The longer Viktor looked at Nikita, the deeper he dared to look, the less of him he recognised. It was as if a certain bitterness had come over his father, had gripped his character where it sat rooted in his heart, and had torn it apart, leaving behind only shattered remains. Perhaps the trauma of almost losing his wife had unsettled him, and for that Viktor truly could not blame him. But any other man, he was sure, would have taken such an event to change for the better. Any other man would have realised how valuable a family was, how important the bonds between parents and their children were, and how crucial it was for them to understand each other, to be loyal, to get along.

But how could he give loyalty, unconditional loyalty to his father, if his father was unable to offer unconditional respect?

The mere suggestion that he, Viktor, should take a second mate so soon after getting married, with the first child on the way, was an insult in itself – not so much an insult to Viktor, but an insult to the gods, and especially to Yuuri. Viktor was not stupid. He knew that his father did not like how outspoken Yuuri was, how fearlessly he voiced his opinions, and that he dared to talk back, but that did not justify any of this. Suggesting a second mate meant questioning the validity of Viktor’s and Yuuri’s bond, and Viktor would not allow that to happen. Not now, not ever, as long as he breathed.

As the meeting finally came to an end and the men began to leave the hut, Viktor rose as well, ready to follow Yakov. But a hand on his arm held him back, and as he turned around, he found his father looking at him.

Nikita said nothing, not a single word, until the last of the men had left the hut.

“If you ever speak to me in such a disrespectful way ever again,” Nikita in a low, controlled voice that barely hid his seething anger, “I will not hesitate to cut you down to size, boy. When you speak to me, you speak to your clan leader, and to your father, to whom you owe respect. Is that understood?”

Viktor met his gaze, his heart beating fast in his chest from the sheer audacity of his actions. But he would not back down.

“Remember the day of my wedding, father,” he said just as quietly. “You have released me of the burden of the son and I became a man. I am no longer the boy that you can first chastise and then kiss. I respect you as my clan leader, and as such, you have no right to interfere with what happens in my own home.” He freed himself from his father’s grasp and stepped back, halfway out of the door, with the sun in his back. “And neither do you have this right as my father.”

Viktor turned around and walked away, away from the elders’ circle, without waiting for his father’s reply. It was the greatest affront to do so, and just months ago, Viktor would have never even dared to look his father in the eye when being scolded by him, but he found that despite the shaking of his hands, despite the rapidly beating heart in his chest, he was not afraid of him anymore.

In fact, he rejoiced.

He found Yuuri sitting outside Mila’s hut, chatting with her and a few other women and girls over their work. On his lap sat a basket with herbs from which he was removing small leaves from the stems. Upon spotting Viktor, Yuuri began to smile and wave.

Mila said something to the others, causing them to giggle, but Viktor could not have cared less as he bent down to kiss Yuuri tenderly on the lips, for all of the world to see.

“Is everything alright?” Yuuri asked quietly, for he had, of course, noticed the unusual expression on his husband’s face. “Bad decisions with the elders?”

“No, no bad decisions,” Viktor assured him and gave his shoulders a gentle squeeze before acknowledging the presence of the others. “What are you making, ladies?”

“We’re preparing herbs to dry them,” Mila said. “Yuuri told us about the plants they grow in the south.”

“My mother has a garden,” Yuuri explained, and his eyes began to shine at the memory. “With many plants. They help with fever and bad dreams.”

Yuuri did not have to say aloud what he was referring to, for Viktor understood him nonetheless. His nightmares no longer scared him, but they shortened many nights significantly, leaving him tired and exhausted during the day. He assumed that Yuuri wanted to buy said herbs at the next meeting of the clans.

“We should definitely stock up on those,” Mila remarked. “So many children get feverish in their first five years.”

“Tell me about it,” one of the women sighed. “My twin girls both got a fever at once a few days ago, in the middle of the night! Naturally, our youngest woke up then as well, so my husband spent the night walking around with our boy to soothe him whilst I kept trying to cool my daughters’ foreheads. What a night!” She shook her head, and the other women nodded in sympathy.

“You’ll learn that soon enough,” Mila said to Yuuri and Viktor. “Lots of sleepless nights.”

“Sexless nights,” another woman said, and the others sighed in frustrated understanding.

Viktor and Yuuri exchanged a quick look.

“Aw, now look at our boy blushing!” Mila cried and pointed at Viktor, the other women bursting into giggles as Viktor blew up his cheeks in protest and had to be kept from snapping at Mila by Yuuri’s hand reaching for Viktor’s.

“Ah, it’s so refreshing to see you wedded, dear Viktor,” one of the older ladies said warmly. “I always wondered when you would marry, and who. Who would have thought you would get such a dashing partner! And a sacred one, on top of that.”

“I am the luckiest man in the world,” Viktor said with unmistakeable pride, his hand still in Yuuri’s as he gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

“I find it rather sad that there are not so many sacred ones around anymore,” the old lady sighed. “I remember when I was young. My parents took me to the meeting of the clans to find a husband for me, and there, I saw the most gorgeous young man. His hair had the colour of fire. I took my mother’s hand and pointed at him, and she looked at me and said: dear girl, I fear he is not one for our kind, for he is destined for something greater, for things we cannot understand. When I look at our dear Yuuri, I can see that man in him. Proud, fierce, and blessed by the gods. With a mate at his side whose pride for him outshines all else.”

The people of the village hardly commented on their relationship, let alone on the fact that Yuuri was a sacred one. In the beginning, Viktor had been very grateful for that, and he was sure that Yuuri had been, too. They had accepted him into the community without question, not once questioning his right to be there, let alone his otherness.

Viktor knew that he was different, too. For being the son of a man that was anything but ordinary. For being a survivor of slavery. For having no love for women, but for men.

To marry Yuuri had been a lucky coincidence and destiny at the very same time.

“I feel pride for Viktor, too,” Yuuri said and smiled up at him, a smile that only the two of them truly understood.

Viktor kissed him.

The women squealed, but this time, neither of them cared.

* * *

Viktor had prepared for clan meetings before, but none of these times had felt as hectic as it did right now.

For one, there was a younger brother he had to tame – or rather, to keep out of his father’s reach. The closer the meeting of the clans had come, the angrier and more confrontational Yuri seemed to become, refusing to do as he was told and prepare together with Yakov for their departure. His behaviour was met with a complete lack of understanding by his father and uncle, who could not know what had happened between Yuri and Otabek the last time they had seen each other. They could not see the heartbreak that pained the boy that would soon become a man.

Viktor tried his best to keep Yuri out of their reach, asking him to help Yuuri with his preparations for the clan meeting. Much to his surprise, Yuri did so without much protest, doing the heavy work without question, as if he were glad just to be away from the people who would only ask stupid questions.

Yelena was helping them, too, but unlike her husband or her brother-in-law, she never once commented on Yuri’s rather strange mood swings. Perhaps, Viktor thought, it was because she was a woman and a mother that she left it up to Yuri to decide whether he wanted to speak to someone or not. She had been like this with Viktor, too, when he had first realised that none of the girls in the village would ever spark his interest – but that the boy with the green eyes that had come with the group of nomads very much did.

Said boy had become an important person in Viktor’s life. Chris might have been his first kiss and the first person he had ever fooled around with, but it had never become more than that. The nomads were more open towards men like them, Viktor had learnt, and knowing so had helped Viktor to accept his nature. That, and his mother’s never-ending support.

For his father had been anything but happy to learn that his son would not be easily married off – even if he liked to claim otherwise nowadays.

Chris would be at the clan meeting, too – even if he was a traveller, a lone one even that had left the nomad group of his family to live on his own until he found a mate, Chris enjoyed the company of others. The annual meeting of all clans was where they usually saw each other, and although Viktor always invited his friend to come and stay with him, Chris valued his freedom too much.

To say that Viktor was looking forward to introducing Chris to Yuuri was an understatement. He could hardly wait for them to meet, both of them so incredibly important to him. There was no doubt to him that Chris and Yuuri would like each other, and if he remembered correctly, Chris even spoke the language of Yuuri’s people to some extent.

Of course, Viktor could not deny that he wanted to show Yuuri off, too. Yuuri, and the proof of their love that his mate carried under his heart.

His belly had grown a little more every single day, now unmistakeably there and making him look like a divine creature in Viktor’s eyes – like a queen, reigning with goodness and grace.

The thought came to Viktor even now, on the morning of their departure from the village. Yuuri stood by the cart and directed Yuri in his task of pushing boxes and jugs onto the load space, one hand absentmindedly on his belly, laughing and smiling. He had been looking forward to this day, Viktor knew that, and was even more looking forward to seeing his family again. They had often spoken about it at night, hidden away in their warm nest. Yuuri missed his family, especially his sister, and Viktor knew that no matter how much he showered Yuuri with love, he could never replace the bond that existed between siblings – let alone the bond between a parent and their child. Especially with their own child on the way, Viktor understood that Yuuri longed for his mother’s guidance and support.

What better occasion was there for a reunion than the annual meeting of the clans?

“Vitya.”

Yakov appeared beside him, his expression gruff as usual. “Are your carts ready?”

“Yes,” Viktor said. “Yuri will be with us. I think it is better that way.”

“You managed to convince him?” Yakov asked, glancing at the young boy who took a stack of furs from Yuuri and placed them on the cart for them to sit on. “He’s coming?”

“I told him it’s important,” Viktor said. “Sometimes sensible words are more helpful than my father’s orders.”

“I can imagine,” Yakov huffed. “Get ready. We are about to leave.”

Viktor nodded and turned around to join Yuuri by the cart, touching him by the shoulder before kissing him on the cheek. “Are you ready, solnyshko?”

Yuuri’s face lit up whenever Viktor used this term of endearment, and it also did so now, followed by a blush on his cheeks. “Yes,” he said, his eyes sparkling in happy anticipation of the journey. “I’m excited. Baby is happy, too. It is dancing.”

“Oh, is it?” Viktor put his hand on Yuuri’s belly, feeling the movement just barely, but it always filled his heart with pride when his child was moving, showing its strength and will to live. “I hope you can contain your excitement until we arrive. It will be a long journey south. You must tell me immediately when you start feeling uncomfortable or ill, yes?”

“Yes, Viktor,” Yuuri assured him and stood on his toes to peck his lips. “I promise.”

Yuri made a retching sound from the back of the cart. “You’re disgusting.”

Viktor ignored him and deepened the kiss, much to Yuuri’s surprise, who squeaked and had to grasp Viktor’s arms in order not to lose his balance. Only as Yuri began to yell at them they broke apart, both of them chuckling.

“I shall kiss you in our tent tonight,” Viktor promised quietly. “Everywhere.”

“Viktor!” Yuuri gasped and playfully slapped his chest before he allowed Viktor to lift him onto the cart. Had Yuuri not been pregnant, he would have been on a horse at Viktor’s side. But in his current condition, the cart was a much safer option.

“Are you ready?” Nikita had reached their cart in the train, letting his eyes wander over the load, checking if everything had been secured properly. Only then his eyes fell on Yuuri, who had moved to sit down beside Viktor’s brother. “What is Yuuri doing on the cart, Viktor?”

Viktor looked at his father in confusion. “A horse is far too dangerous for him in his condition,” he said.

“And so is the cart,” Nikita said, shaking his head. “He is pregnant. He won’t come with us this time. Maybe next year.”

“Father-“

“Yuuri will stay with your mother, where he belongs,” Nikita interrupted him, already turning to check the cart behind theirs.

Viktor turned around to his mate, finding both Yuuri and his younger brother staring at him with wide eyes. Yuuri’s Russian had become good enough to understand what was going on, and the shock was clear on his face. His eyes began to fill with tears, the realisation that he was not going to see his parents slowly sinking in. Beside him, Yuri was glaring at the back of their father’s head, his hands gripping the edge of the cart so hard that his knuckles were turning white.

“Yuuri will come with us, father.”

Nikita turned around from where he stood by the next cart, a deep frown appearing on his face. It was in moments like these where the difference between Viktor and his father became the most evident, where one could see that even if they looked very much alike, their faces spoke very different languages, and represented very different spirits.

Viktor walked past their cart towards his father, not bothering to lower his voice, making sure that everyone nearby could hear them.

“Yuuri is my mate and therefore, he is my responsibility. I decide where he goes, where he stands, where he sits, and where he sleeps. And if I say that he will come with us to the clan meeting, then he will. This is matter of my marriage, and even if you are the clan leader, you have no say in that matter, whether you like it or not.”

The mouth of the man on the cart behind theirs stood wide open, and Viktor was sure that the people behind him were watching them, anxious to see what would happen next.

Nikita narrowed his eyes just slightly, barely noticeable for those around them, but Viktor knew that his father was calculating his reaction very carefully.

“Then do not come to me when something happens,” he said quietly, his voice dangerously calm.

Viktor nodded only once. “Do not worry. I shall not.”

He turned around and went back to their cart, where both Yuuri and Yura had watched him with wide eyes, the latter as pale as snow. Viktor, however, only had eyes for his mate. He grabbed Yuuri’s hand and cupped his cheek, kissing him gently. “Do not worry,” he assured him and squeezed his hand. “Everything is fine. You will come with us.”

“R-Really?” Yuuri breathed. “But your father—”

“—has no say in that matter,” Viktor said firmly. “If I say you come with us, then you come with us. Now don’t cry, my love. Look forward to seeing your family. Yes?”

Yuuri nodded, swallowing thickly as Viktor wiped his tears away with his thumb and kissed his forehead tenderly.

Then, he turned to Yuri, who was still watching their father’s back.

“Yura.”

The teenager turned his head, his expression strangely distorted.

“Stay near Yuuri, please,” Viktor said. “And away from our father.”

“Okay.” Yuri glanced at their father again, who was helping Anatoly to secure the load on his card a second time. “Can I take one of the knives?”

“Sure.” Viktor did not know why his brother was asking, but he handed him one of the knives he kept on his belt without hesitation. Yuri took it and attached it to his own belt, patting the hilt of the knife as if to reassure himself of its presence.

He looked back at Yuuri, whose tears had finally dried, but the anxiety was still visible on his face, the worry clear in his eyes, all of it making Viktor incredibly angry – but not at Yuuri, but at his father.

Viktor reached out for Yuuri’s hand, who instinctively reached out for him, too, their fingers intertwining as they looked at each other, ignoring the world around them entirely. He cupped Yuuri’s cheek and kissed him on the lips, their foreheads touching as they pulled apart again. “I shall always ride within your sight,” he whispered.

Yuuri squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Vitya.”

Viktor hated to let go of him again, but when he did, he knew Yuuri would be fine in his brother’s company. He glanced at his father, who seemed to ignore him entirely as he sat proud and high on his horse and waited for the rest of them to get ready.

Only the gods knew what was waiting for them beyond the horizon.

Neither Viktor nor Yuuri knew what was coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to read more?  
Give my other stories a try!  
There are kings and queens, mafia bosses and vampires... I'm sure you find something you like.


End file.
